Maternal Imprisonment and Family Life: From the Caregiver's Perspective 9781447352303

Table of contents :
Front Cover
Maternal Imprisonment and Family Life
Copyright information
Table of contents
List of tables
Acknowledgments
Preface: Linda's story
Contextualising Linda’s story: a note on the research
One The landscape of maternal imprisonment: caregiving and family life
Introduction
The landscape of maternal imprisonment: a family affair
Caregiving during maternal imprisonment
Mothers in contact with the criminal justice system
Caregivers: the forgotten family members
A closer look at caregivers’ experiences
Supporting prisoners’ families: policy, practice and wider society
Chapter overview
Summary
Notes
Two Researching the caregiver’s lived experiences
Introduction
Theoretical framework: ‘family practices’
Applying ‘family practices’ to maternal imprisonment
The research study
Access and recruitment
Data collection and analysis
The caregiving kin
The caregiving kin: a personal introduction
Summary
Notes
Three Family constructions and caregiving practices
Introduction
Joint interviews and collective caregiving
Supportive collective caregiving practices
The nature and extent of collective caregiving practices
The strain of collective caregiving
Doubly invisible children
Caregivers’ dependent children
Caregivers’ adult children and grandchildren
Family constructions: fathers and paternal kin
Fathering roles and practices
Active fathering
Irregular fathering
Absent fathers
Fathers in prison
Paternal kin
Summary
Note
Four Renegotiating family life: caregiving in the aftermath of the mother’s imprisonment
Introduction
News of the imprisonment
The unexpected sentence: guilty
The unexpected sentence: seriousness and mitigation
Feeling bereaved
The initial response to the mother’s imprisonment: why and how?
Why care?
Caregiving preparations when children already lived with the caregiver
Caregiving preparations when children moved into caregivers’ homes after arrest
Caregiving preparations when children moved into caregivers’ homes after imprisonment
Moving households
Telling the children
Longer-term renegotiations
Sorting the mother’s affairs
Caregiving: adjusted identities and practices
Social identity
Work commitments and financial considerations
Summary
Notes
Five Navigating the criminal justice system
Introduction
Court processes
Court practices
Locating support
Re-establishing contact
On the telephone
Face-to-face contact
Maintaining contact
The cost of telephoning
Booking visits
The timing of visits
Travel distance and costs
Prison visiting processes and environment
Postal contact
Technology: emails and video-calling
MBUs
Children housed on an MBU
Awaiting places on MBUs
Summary
Notes
Six Social support, familial stigma and release
Introduction
Legal guardianship and statutory support
Challenges of not having legal guardianship
ROs
Expecting statutory support
Locating support from welfare agencies
Familial stigma
Caregivers’ experiences of media reports
Protecting the children from media reports
The impact of media reports: experiencing stigma in the community
The impact of media reports: experiencing stigma online
Fear and management of stigma
Experiencing stigma at the prison
Expectations for release
Uncertainties surrounding the mother’s release date
Anxieties about the changes accompanying the mother’s release
Starting a new chapter
Summary
Notes
Seven Kin caregiving: occupying a disenfranchised status while serving the family sentence
Introduction
What has been learned about the family sentence?
Doing caregiving
Collective caregiving practices
What has been learned about caregivers’ disenfranchised social status?
Court experiences: separation and exclusion
Dissociation from formal support
Inadequate financial support
Issues maintaining contact
Release and the uncertain duration of caregiving
Devalued by society: familial stigma
Building on what we know: key findings and policy recommendations
Recommendation one: identify mothers and children at court
Recommendation two: expand the provision of family liaison workers at courts
Recommendation three: provide free information packs from the prison
Recommendation four: ensure the accountability of provisions via family performance measures
Recommendation five: expand Hidden Sentence Training
Concluding thoughts
Notes
Eight Reflections on the research process
Introduction
Practical challenges: recruitment
Ethical challenges: managing withdrawal
Reflexivity: the researcher’s identity
Summary
Notes
References
Index
Back Cover

Citation preview

POLICY PRESS

RESEARCH

MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE From the Caregiver’s Perspective N ATA L I E B O OT H

NATALIE BOOTH

MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE From the Caregiver’s Perspective

POLICY PRESS

RESEARCH

First published in Great Britain in 2020 by Policy Press University of Bristol 1–​9 Old Park Hill Bristol BS2 8BB UK t: +44 (0)117 954 5940 pp-​[email protected] www.policypress.co.uk

North America office: Policy Press c/​o The University of Chicago Press 1427 East 60th Street Chicago, IL 60637, USA t: +1 773 702 7700 f: +1 773-​702-​9756 [email protected] www.press.uchicago.edu

© Policy Press 2020 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN 978-​1-​4473-​5229-​7 hardcover ISBN 978-​1-​4473-​5231-​0  ePub ISBN 978-​1-​4473-​5230-​3  ePdf The right of Natalie Booth to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved: no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of Policy Press. The statements and opinions contained within this publication are solely those of the author and not of the University of Bristol or Policy Press. The University of Bristol and Policy Press disclaim responsibility for any injury to persons or property resulting from any material published in this publication. Policy Press works to counter discrimination on grounds of gender, race, disability, age and sexuality. Cover design by Policy Press Front cover image: Alamy Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY Policy Press uses environmentally responsible print partners

Contents

List of tables

iv

Acknowledgements

v

Preface: Linda’s story

vi

one

The landscape of maternal imprisonment: caregiving and family life

1

two

Researching the caregiver’s lived experiences

19

three

Family constructions and caregiving practices

41

four

Renegotiating family life: caregiving in the aftermath of the mother’s imprisonment

67

five

Navigating the criminal justice system

97

six

Social support, familial stigma and release

127

seven

Kin caregiving: occupying a disenfranchised status while serving the family sentence

157

eight

Reflections on the research process

181

References

189

Index

205

iii

List of tables 2.1 3.1 3.2 5.1

Caregivers: their demographics and childcare arrangements Doubly invisible children Fathering practices Distance from home to prison (one way)

iv

27 51 57 113

Acknowledgements

There is a long list of people who have helped and encouraged me during this study, and my thanks go to all of them. My particular thanks go to the families who took part in the research for the trust they placed in me as they openly shared their stories and experiences. I hope that I have done justice to their accounts and have stayed true to their views and meanings. I would also like to thank the staff at the four female prisons for their assistance, especially Nessa. I am grateful for the generous financial assistance provided by the Economic and Social Research Council (ESRC) for my studentship. I would particularly like to express my gratitude and appreciation for the heartening guidance, encouragement and advice that I received from Professor Tess Ridge. Special thanks are also reserved for my academic colleagues, family and friends who supported me with this task, and especially to those who supported me during fieldwork and read earlier versions of my work –​you know who are you are, thank you. I am especially grateful to Denise for her enduring support, to my Mum for her unwavering confidence in me and to my husband, without whom doing this work would have seemed impossible. I would like to dedicate this work to two very important people who are unfortunately no longer with me, my grandma and grandad. They were the kindest and most generous of grandparents who taught me that love is the key ingredient in life.

v

Preface: Linda’s story

A woman in her 50s approaches me. In one hand, she is carrying two, slightly torn black bin bags bulging with clothes, while the other hand rests on a pram where a little bundle of joy lies asleep. It is January and despite only just coming inside from the cold street, her forehead is shiny with small droplets of perspiration. Her face is drawn, her body vibrating a little. Her mouth does not move, but she speaks to me. I feel her eyes desperately search my face for an indication of hope, and this tells me that she needs my help. One bus, two trains and a 40-​minute walk later, Linda has arrived. Linda is not her real name of course, but she is a real person. Linda has not been to a prison before. Then again, neither has Linda’s daughter. She tells me this while scanning  the room suspiciously. I  explain that we are sat a little outside the prison in the prison visitor’s centre and that I work with the prison family support team. We drink a cup of tea together, and I try to answer her questions: “Do I have the right ID for the visit?”; “Who do I give the bin bags of clothes to?”; “Is she safe?” I learn that Linda is proud to be Nana to the bundle of joy still asleep in the pram, as well as to two little blonde-​haired boys –​one aged seven and one aged five. Fighting back tears, she tells me that the children have not seen their mum since Thursday morning. She tells me that the teachers had phoned her and asked her to collect the boys from school. Linda had been confused and worried but she

vi

Preface

went, still wearing her bright green ASDA T-​shirt, and was perspiring much like she is today –​except today is Tuesday. Linda said that her daughter had been summoned to court on Thursday, but until the school had phoned, she had thought nothing of it. She explained that the solicitor had reassured them that a non-​violent, first-​time offence like her daughter’s –​ and especially a sole carer to three little boys –​would not result in a custodial sentence. Since Thursday, Linda had spoken to her daughter once: a telephone call lasting no more than six minutes. Although Linda suspected that her daughter was in prison, this phone call confirmed her dreaded suspicions; however, six minutes was not long enough to ask all the questions that she had about the boy’s bath-​and-​bedroom routine, or to establish what alternative to breast milk she should give the baby. It also confirmed that Linda would not be donning her green ASDA T-​shirt for the next six months. How could she? Her grandsons needed her. Contextualising Linda’s story: a note on the research Linda is the first caregiver that I had the privilege of meeting. Her story not only stayed with me, but was an inspiration and motivation to conduct the research that underpins this book. Linda committed no infractions herself –​she frequently joked that she had never even received a parking ticket; yet, from that Thursday onwards, Linda’s life was turned upside down. Prisons remain on the periphery of our society; we know that they exist and yet because only a small proportion of people come into direct contact with them, it is difficult to gain a real understanding of their essence and functioning. Prior to this study, my personal history had not afforded much contact with the prison setting –​and my knowledge of maternal imprisonment was born entirely out of my academic interest. Given my own positionality, I decided that it was appropriate and justified to acquaint myself with the prison environment and learn more about the complexities of the environment first-​hand. This

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is why I organised and embarked on a six-​month placement at the women’s prison. This placement is where I met Linda, as well as other relatives like her who were in contact with women in prison. Working in the prison provided familiarity with the prison and, importantly, the familial experience of prison. The lessons I learned during these six months subsequently guided the research aims and methods that underpin the study presented in this book. It is because my meeting with Linda occurred before the research began that she is not one of the 15 families whose experiences are presented later in the book. However, I hope that by beginning with Linda’s experience, you, the reader, will be encouraged to learn more about what happens to grandmothers like Linda, and will join me on this exploration of Maternal Imprisonment and Family Life: From the Caregiver’s Perspective.

viii

ONE The landscape of maternal imprisonment: caregiving and family life

Introduction This book explores the lives and experiences of family members and friends caring for the children of female prisoners in England and Wales. It provides an opportunity to understand some of the challenges and realities of (re)negotiating family life when a mother is sent to prison from the perspectives of caregiving relatives. Over 2.5 million children are thought to experience parental imprisonment across Europe every year (Noffke, 2017); meanwhile, the most recent estimates for England and Wales suggest that around 17,000 are separated from their imprisoned mothers a year (Howard League for Penal Reform, 2011; Crest Advisory, 2019). These high figures result from most women in prison being mothers, with research suggesting that children remain in the care of relatives –​often grandparents and female kin1 –​while their mother is imprisoned (Caddle and Crisp, 1997; PRT [Prison Reform Trust], 2018). Previous studies highlight how the separation that maternal imprisonment brings has multiple adverse consequences for both mothers (Enos, 2001; Baldwin,

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2015; Masson, 2019) and children (Sharratt, 2014; Jones et al, 2013; Minson, 2018a). Yet, much less is known about how the experience of a mother’s imprisonment impacts the daily lives and practices of the relatives who assume care for children. There is limited understanding about the ways in which caregiving is assumed and shared within families in the absence of the mother. There is little in-​depth exploration of how caregiving kin interpret, manage and respond to these additional childcare responsibilities in their everyday lives; meanwhile, there is little discussion of the limited statutory support made available to these families. This book answers these questions by situating caregiving kin at the heart of the inquiry through a family-​centred analysis of existing knowledge and a privileging their own accounts of their circumstances when presenting the research data (Booth, 2017a). This was achieved through the application of Morgan’s (1996, 2011) theoretical lens of ‘family practices’, which facilitated a critical exploration of what families ‘do’, characterised by a sense of the everyday activities and relationships that have social meaning, and that are grounded in history and biography (for more information, see Chapter Two). Significantly, the application of this sociological theory to a field primarily studied by criminologists produced new insights into family constructions and caregiving practices. In particular, the study provides a greater understanding of the emotional, economic, relational, social and practical pressures that maternal imprisonment brings to the everyday lives of caregivers. Their accounts draw attention to the lack of statutory support available from both formal agencies within the criminal justice system and social welfare agencies. These findings come at a particularly opportune moment, providing much-​needed evidence to policymakers and practitioners who have taken more interest in understanding the role and significance of family ties for prisoners in recent years (Farmer, 2017; JCHR [Joint Committee on Human Rights], 2019; MoJ [Ministry

2

The landscape of maternal imprisonment

of Justice] and HMPPS [HM Prison and Probation Service], 2019a). The landscape of maternal imprisonment: a family affair Of course, women in prison have different relationships with their family than men. These range from all the issues surrounding pregnancy and mothers and babies in custody, to the disruption of many women’s role as the primary carer when they are taken into custody, to contact with family once a woman is in prison. These issues are vastly different in type and scale to those experienced by men. (Former Chief Inspector of Prisons Nick Hardwick, 2012: 8) As Nick Hardwick suggests, there are substantial gendered differences that need to be considered when discussing issues pertaining to prison. Women constitute just 5 per cent of the prison population in England and Wales (House of Commons, 2018), which is consistent with female prisoner populations elsewhere, including Australia (8 per cent) and Sweden (6 per cent) (World Prison Brief, 2019). However, decades of research has shown how women have specific needs and vulnerabilities, having already experienced trauma and abuse, poor educational attainment, and issues with substances and mental health on entry to prison (Carlen, 2002; Carlen and Worrall, 2004; Corston, 2007; Baldwin, 2015; Masson, 2019). Added to this, it is believed that over two thirds of women in prison are mothers with dependent children, and that most were living with their children prior to their incarceration (Caddle and Crisp, 1997). It is expected, then, that the majority of children who have an imprisoned mother might have had daily contact with them prior to prison. It comes with little surprise that the literature is filled with concerned discussions about mother–​ child separations and the familial circumstances of women in prison (see, for example, Worrall, 1981; Matthews, 1999;

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MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

Carlen, 2002; Gelsthorpe and Morris, 2002; Chesney-​Lind and Pasko, 2003; Corston, 2007; Baldwin, 2015; Masson, 2019). However, it is important to consider how these gendered and familial issues bring about particular challenges for the family members left looking after the mothers’ children. For instance, it may be helpful to refer back to the Preface of this book and consider how Linda assumed immediate care for her three grandsons following her daughter’s unexpected imprisonment. The number of men and women sent to prison worldwide has dramatically increased over the last few decades (World Prison Brief, 2019). The prison population in England and Wales is twice as large as it was in 1993 (MoJ, 2016, 2018a). On any one day, just under 4,000 women are detained in prisons serving England and Wales; meanwhile, 8,000 women entered prison in 2017 (MoJ, 2018b). This is because most women (83 per cent) are imprisoned for non-​violent offences, meaning that 62 per cent serve shorter custodial sentences of six months or less (MoJ, 2018c; Masson, 2019). When applying a family-​ centred lens to analyse these trends, a critical concern is the significant repercussions that this brings to the whole family because as the female prisoner population grows, so does the number of children separated from their mothers requiring replacement caregivers. However, being in prison does not remove a mother’s willingness to continue mothering (Corston, 2007; Booth, 2017b) or automatically strip her of her legal parental responsibility in England and Wales. Instead, it is by virtue of the detainment that being imprisoned significantly alters, if not compromises, many of the roles and practices that a mother had previously undertaken. Most notably, this includes the daily care of children. Caregiving during maternal imprisonment

A large proportion of mothers in prison (around 70 per cent) had been living with their children prior to custody (Caddle

4

The landscape of maternal imprisonment

and Crisp, 1997). In the event that a sole or primary caregiver is imprisoned, children will require an immediate replacement carer. Usually, family members look after the children in the mother’s absence, often with grandparents and female kin (mostly aunts and sisters) assuming this responsibility. Around 14 per cent of children are taken into social care, with a smaller minority (around 10 per cent) looked after by their fathers (Caddle and Crisp, 1997). As evidenced here, much of what is known about caregiving arrangements is gleaned from a comprehensive (albeit now outdated) survey of the female prisoner population conducted by the Home Office (Caddle and Crisp, 1997). Despite some smaller subsequent studies similarly reporting that grandparents are the main carers (Boswell and Wood, 2011; Raikes, 2016; PRT, 2018), improved and updated data are sorely needed to better grasp these family formations during maternal imprisonment (see the recommendations of the Joint Committee on Human Rights [JCHR, 2019]). Children being cared for by, and within, the family is also seen as preferable to children being taken into social care (Mackintosh et al, 2006). This is similar to informal kinship care arrangements when parents are absent for other reasons, including death and illness (Selwyn et  al, 2013). However, another blind spot in statistics occurs because there is no systematic data gathering about prisoners’ children in England and Wales (Williams et al, 2012) –​or, indeed, internationally (Flynn, 2011). Instead, there is reliance on these estimated figures and patchwork information about family constructions. Frustratingly, this means that there are few opportunities to pinpoint the exact caregiving arrangements or easily identify the kin caregivers of female prisoners’ children at a national or international level. What is known about the reallocation of caregiving following maternal imprisonment indicates that only 5 per cent of female prisoners’ children remain in their own homes during their mother’s prison sentence (Caddle and Crisp, 1997; PRT, 2018). An important facet of this process, currently poorly

5

MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

acknowledged or understood, is what these domestic changes mean for caregiving relatives. When a father is imprisoned, up to 90 per cent of children remain in the care of their mothers (Dodd and Hunter, 1992), do not need a new caregiver and do not move home; therefore, family members as caregiving kin are relied upon to a lesser extent (Friestad, 2016). Several studies have provided invaluable insights into the many challenges facing women caring for children during their father’s imprisonment (Shaw, 1992; Losel et al, 2012) but only a few have explored the pressures and experiences of caregivers of female prisoners’ children. However, the experiences and treatment of women in contact with the criminal justice system are distinct from those of men. Mothers in contact with the criminal justice system

As a ‘response’ to lawbreaking women, prison is often too severe and inappropriate, and there have been repeated calls to reduce the number of custodial sentences given to women (Corston, 2007; Baldwin, 2015; Women in Prison, 2017; Masson, 2019). The long-​awaited Female Offender Strategy (MoJ, 2018d) similarly echoed these calls but, sadly, there has been no significant reduction as yet.2 This is likely the consequence of practical and financial problems, as well as political delays, which hinder the implementation of the proposed strategy (Booth et  al, 2018). Theoretically, this may be explained by the socially constructed and prescriptive conceptions of femininity that posit the disjuncture between womanhood and lawbreaking activities. Carlen (2002) suggested that women are deemed ‘doubly deviant’ as their lawbreaking activities indicate a twofold breach: first, against the law; and, second, against those expectations placed on her as a woman –​mother, wife or daughter (see also Baldwin, 2015). Such conceptions have led to differential –​and often harsher –​treatment of women in the criminal justice system. Evidence shows that women are more likely to be sentenced

6

The landscape of maternal imprisonment

to imprisonment on their first offence than their male counterparts (MoJ, 2015), which, as was learned for Linda’s daughter (see the Preface), could cause significant disruptions to caring responsibilities. Courtroom practices are not accountable for ascertaining the primary caregiving status of defendants. This means that women can receive a custodial sentence before their dependent children are identified by criminal justice agencies. Pre-​Sentence Reports (PSRs) are recurrently identified as a method to address this problem (PRT, 2015; MoJ, 2018d) as they inform sentencers about the defendant’s personal circumstances, including children. However, a continued failure to use PSRs in practice not only removes opportunities for statutory agencies to consider the needs and welfare of children in sentencing decisions (Epstein, 2012; PRT, 2015; JCHR, 2019), but can also delay or obstruct opportunities to organise childcare arrangements with caregiving relatives. Granted, some mothers are reluctant to disclose information about their children to criminal justice agencies out of fear that social services will remove them from their care (Brooks-​ Gordon and Bainham, 2004). This may occur as a result of negative past experiences with practitioners or ‘stories’ about the role and practices of social welfare agencies. Nevertheless, many mothers are not given the chance to disclose details of their children or to seek advice about childcare provisions in the event that a custodial sentence is given. This is despite courts serving England and Wales being bound by European legislations which state that a primary consideration should be given to the best interests of the child when a court is considering a decision to separate a child from their parent through a custodial sentence (see the European Convention on Human Rights3 [ECHR] and the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child [UNCRC] [United Nations, 1989]). Short, informative videos aimed at sentencers and mothers produced from research conducted by Minson (2018b) are an attempt to bridge this gap, though the potential of these

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MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

films can only be reached if they are shared widely and changes are implemented consistently. Mothers were also found to be failed at court by following advice from legal practitioners to plead guilty in order to avoid prison (Masson, 2019). This poor counsel left mothers wholly unequipped for the custodial sentence that then followed, and significantly impacted opportunities to prepare children for the separation, or to organise childcare. Of critical concern is that all these practices can also exclude family members –​as potential caregivers –​from the process and the decisions that will directly concern them as the ones caring for children thereafter. One study with mothers at Her Majesty’s Prison (HMP) Holloway reported that a quarter of caregivers had not anticipated a custodial sentence and were given little notice, or opportunity, to prepare to assume these childcare responsibilities (Boswell and Wood, 2011). Again, a glance back to Linda’s story in the Preface shows some of the practical and emotional realities that can face relatives with little time or opportunity to prepare to assume the full-​time care of children. As well as being physically separated from children and families by the custodial sentence, women are also held in prisons geographically far away from their homes (Corston, 2007; HMIP [Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Prisons], 2010; NOMS [National Offender Management System]2013). The sizeably smaller female prisoner population means that there are fewer female prison establishments (currently 12), which are dispersed across England. Despite calls for women to be housed closer to their children and families (NOMS, 2013), with Baroness Corston’s (2007) review suggesting that this could be achieved through a dispersed set of smaller custodial hubs, visitors of female prisons continue to travel longer distances for face-​to-​face contact. There are also no female prisons in Wales (NOMS, 2013) or the Isle of Wight (Baldwin, 2017); therefore, all female prisoners are detained in England,4 potentially causing more practical and financial obstacles for families from other regions to maintain contact through prison

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The landscape of maternal imprisonment

visits. In addition, research has highlighted the myriad of challenges facing family members wishing to sustain contact with a loved one in prison (HMIP, 2016). This includes the stress of taking long journeys to the prison (Christian, 2005), stringent and degrading search procedures (Arditti et al, 2003; Condry, 2007a; Codd, 2008), restrictive visiting environments that can prevent meaningful parent-​child interactions (Booth, 2016, 2018a), and costly telephone calls (PRT, 2006; Booth, 2018b). It is important to consider what this means, as well as how this is managed by family members caring for children during maternal imprisonment. Otherwise, recent policy attention (Farmer, 2017, 2019; JCHR, 2019; MoJ and HMPPS, 2019a) directed towards supporting prisoners’ family ties runs the risk of failing families. Discussions about contact in the prison setting take a different form when mothers are given a place on Mother and Baby Units (MBUs). Mothers of babies and young children usually under 18 months of age may be eligible for one of six MBUs located inside female prisons serving England and Wales (NOMS, 2011c). The motivations behind MBUs ‘reflect society’s normal assumption that the best place for a young child is with his or her parent’, and they operate in the best interests of the children who reside there (NOMS, 2011c: 2). Recent studies have contributed much-​needed insights into mothers’ experiences of MBUs (O’Keeffe and Dixon, 2015; Abbott, 2018); however, it is not clear how fathers or other caregiving family members consider these facilities. Familial perspectives are of value given that they may be supporting the mother practically, emotionally and financially while also attempting to maintain family relationships with the baby housed in the prison. Taken together, the process of incarcerating women cannot be divorced from their roles and responsibilities as mothers. Yet, as prisons are stubbornly favoured as the ‘response’ to lawbreaking, and policymakers continue to evade, ignore or fail to implement gender-​specific policies for mothers (Corston,

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MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

2007; MoJ, 2018d), it is vital that room is made to voice the experiences of people for whom maternal imprisonment is a reality. In this book, it is the caregivers’ narratives and experiences that are privileged. Caregivers: the forgotten family members Recently, a considerable body of knowledge on the impact of imprisonment on families (Condry and Scharff Smith, 2018) has developed, alongside an increased focus on the ‘collateral consequences’ of imprisonment (Turanovic et al, 2012) and rising prisoner populations internationally (World Prison Brief, 2019). Most of this has focused on the experiences of partners and children (Jardine, 2018), especially when a male relative is imprisoned (Codd, 2008). Likewise, there is an increasing amount of evidence that highlights the degree to which mothers and children suffer; yet, while it is widely acknowledged that children often require a replacement caregiver and are looked after by relatives, these relatives’ accounts still remain largely absent or ‘forgotten’ in academic research, as well as policy. This is likely an unintended consequence of the overriding social concern for the mothers, their children and the dyadic mother-​child relationship. However, as caregiving relatives also occupy a prominent position in the wake of the mother’s imprisonment, there are important lessons to be learned from looking more closely at these forgotten kin. A closer look at caregivers’ experiences

Research with prisoners’ families has indicated how the bulk of the familial responsibilities fall to women (Condry, 2007b; Codd, 2008). This attunes with research identifying children’s caregivers as grandparents and female relatives during maternal imprisonment (Caddle and Crisp, 1997). In England and Wales, research with grandmother-​caregivers (Raikes, 2016; Baldwin, forthcoming) indicates the emotional challenges of

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The landscape of maternal imprisonment

looking after children in later life and with limited support. Following previous research with prisoners’ families (Condry, 2007a), feelings of stigma were also pervasive (Minson, 2018a). Undoubtedly, these studies have improved our understanding of some of the challenges and concerns of caring; however, as with women in prison (Rowe, 2011) and the children of prisoners (Laing and McCarthy, 2005), caregiving kin are not a homogeneous group with homogeneous experiences (Turanovic et al, 2012; Jardine, 2018). Although it is ‘known’ that most children are looked after within the family when the mother goes to prison, there is little evidence that shows how their families may be constructed or what their familial circumstances might look like before, during and after prison. An important consideration is the way in which families construct ‘new family obligations’ (Hairston, 2009: 10) following a mother’s prison sentence. Of particular interest is the impact on domestic, relational and emotional circumstances, as well as the shifting roles and responsibilities as family members adapt their everyday, family practices to respond to the changed circumstances (Morgan, 2011). This relates to both the short-​term renegotiations immediately after the mother is imprisoned and to changes in the long term to account for the continued absence, the children’s shifting needs and the experiences of navigating around the criminal justice system. Likewise, most children move home when their mother goes to prison (Caddle and Crisp, 1997; PRT, 2018) but little is known about the household into which the children move, including the presence of other dependants, such as the caregivers’ own children. Thus, awareness of the wider familial context surrounding the mother’s imprisonment will also help to unpack the nature and scope of caregiving experiences within the wider family. This includes further exploration of the role and positionality of children’s fathers, who are poorly explored in discussions of caregiving in this context (Flynn, 2011), either as sole caregivers to children or as a potential form of support to other caregiving relatives (for example, grandmothers). For

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MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

instance, it may be appropriate to question the relationship that the father of Linda’s grandsons might have, and what role he might assume in the absence of their mother (see the Preface). Kin caregivers might have –​or have had –​a close relationship with the mother in prison. Research refers to the ‘double’ pains of grandparents raising grandchildren in the absence of their own children, whether a temporary or permanent loss, and for whom they are grieving (Selwyn et al, 2013; Raikes, 2016). For the children of prisoners, this loss has been conceptualised as ‘ambiguous’ (Bockneck et al, 2009) as their parents can be emotionally present while physically remote (Boss, 2016). As such, the emotionality of the loss and separation that may be experienced by caregiving kin is worthy of further exploration. The research conducted in the US by Turanovic and colleagues (2012) indicates that parent-​caregiver relationships influenced childcare arrangements and practices, including the maintenance of contact. Indeed, several studies in the US have highlighted the caregiver’s role as a ‘gatekeeper’ or facilitator of mother–​child contact due to their central role in enabling communication during the prison sentence (Barnes and Cunningham Stringer, 2014; Tasca et al, 2016). It is because of this critical role in maintaining mother-​child contact that research with caregiving kin needs to capture nuances in interpersonal relationships and family dynamics, which, as Codd (2008) argues, are more suited to qualitative research methods. Existing literature strongly suggests that being in a position of providing kinship care (Selwyn et al, 2013) or in a prisoner’s family (SEU [Social Exclusion Unit], 2002; Christian et al, 2006; Codd, 2008; Dixey and Woodall, 2012) can involve significant strain on low-​income families. The loss of income from the imprisoned person and financially supporting a prisoner –​ by sending money to a relative in prison or owing to the high costs of maintaining contact –​can be burdensome. Likewise, child rearing brings its own set of financial requirements, from feeding and clothing children, to paying for nursery places and other essentials. Increased childcare responsibilities may

12

The landscape of maternal imprisonment

impact a caregiver’s ability to participate in paid work and, as previous research suggests (Selwyn et al, 2013; Raikes, 2016), grandparent-​caregivers may struggle to afford these necessities from their pension pots. Therefore, there is a need to expand our understanding of kin caregiving by qualitatively exploring the everyday lives, practices and perspectives of relatives who assume childcare responsibilities. A key part of this ought to focus on how the caregiving relatives perceive their roles and responsibilities, and how these insights will help to inform policy and practice by identifying what support they might receive –​and also need. Supporting prisoners’ families: policy, practice and wider society

Prisoners’ family ties have received considerable policy attention in recent years (Farmer, 2017; JCHR, 2019). This has come from the publication of several government documents (SEU, 2002), policy initiatives (Home Office, 2004) and prison policies (NOMS, 2011b) that have advocated the maintenance of family ties between prisoners and their relatives. This interest stems from a perspective that has gained legitimacy and which supposes that family ties can produce better outcomes for the prisoners and society. This is because families can function as a source of social capital, bringing social and relational connections, as well as practical support with housing and employment, to the prisoner’s development and resettlement process. The need to support family ties is too closely intertwined with discussions about reducing reoffending, which, unsurprisingly, is a social and economic anxiety of the government given that 64 per cent of people reoffended within one year of release from prison in 2016 (MoJ, 2019). Although there are pragmatic reasons why familial relationships should be considered as a resettlement agency, Codd (2007) has cautioned that an overreliance on under-​supported and under-​resourced family members is problematic. There has also been little consideration of the different needs or circumstances

13

MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

of different ‘families’ discussed in policy rhetoric (see Booth, 2017c; Masson and Booth, 2018). Thus, the fashioning of families in this capacity focuses only on their usefulness in supporting the prisoner, as well as the prison service and the state, while failing to appreciate the characteristics or challenges associated with being a family grappling with the repercussions of having a member in prison. Prisoners’ families are heavily reliant on services provided by third sector and voluntary organisations, including the Prisoner Advice and Care Trust (PACT), Partners of Prisoners (POPS), Barnardo’s and Children Heard and Seen. Providing virtual support, the ‘Prisoners’ Families Helpline’ is an effective free phone service funded by the government but managed by the voluntary sector to provide information and guidance to the family members of prisoners (Codd, 2007; Sharratt, 2014). The positive developments that emerged following Lord Farmer’s (2017, 2019) landmark reviews are welcomed, for instance, through increased accountability and pressure on prisons to produce and publish ‘Family and Significant Other Strategies’ for the National Information Centre for Children of Offenders (NICCO5). Arguably, the traction that has accompanied Lord Farmer’s reports from policy to practice has increased awareness and prominence of family work in some prisons. However, the Assisted Prison Visits Scheme (APVS) is the only statutory, economic resource for low-​ income family members seeking financial support to engage in prison visits. It is not clear how widely this resource is used by families, including the caregiving kin of the children of female prisoners. Moreover, sustained and adequate funding for charities (Codd, 2008; NPC [New Philanthropy Capital], 2011), alongside cuts to public sector funding (Ricketts, 2018), create a ‘postcode lottery’ (Raikes, 2016) of support for families and bring about serious challenges for the voluntary sector to continue bearing responsibility for the needs of those with a loved one in prison.

14

The landscape of maternal imprisonment

One reason that the families of prisoners are systemically disregarded and under-​supported in policy and practice links to negative depictions of this social group derived from erroneous and discriminatory social perceptions of prisons and prisoners. Prison remains hidden in society (King and Wincup, 2000; Martin, 2000) and so it is difficult for many people to grasp its unique essence.6 Linked to this, people in the general population often draw on media representations to gain some insight into prisons and prison life, though these are dramatised and present inaccurate images of the realities of crime and punishment (Sparks, 1992; Mason, 2007; Marsh, 2009). The lack of social verification for families experiencing imprisonment may therefore occur as prison is not viewed as a familial ‘loss’ that is socially significant (Arditti, 2016) or worthy of attention and support. Their proximity and relationship to the prisoner –​as someone who is a devalued individual in society by virtue of their crime (Goffman, 1963) –​results in a diminished social status for the families. From her research with the family members of serious offenders, Condry (2007b) found that ‘kin contamination’ and ‘kin culpability’ were widely experienced in these families. ‘Kin contamination’, attuned to Goffman’s (1963) ‘courtesy stigma’ theory, found that the family’s relationship to the stigmatised individual caused their status to be similarly devalued. Meanwhile, ‘kin culpability’ refers to the application of blame to families for their failure to successfully function and produce citizens to the expectations of society. Put another way, kin culpability might be better known as family blaming. It is unclear how occupying this vulnerable and largely under-​supported social position  –​ conceptualised in this book as a ‘disenfranchised social status’ –​affects the lives and experiences of family members responsible for children whose mothers have been removed into prison by the state. This is problematic against the current backdrop of policy rhetoric that has seemingly advocated support for prisoners’ family ties in recent years (SEU, 2002; Home Office, 2004; MoJ and

15

MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

HMPPS, 2019a). Of critical concern is that this knowledge gap may undermine recent policies supposedly directed towards prisoners’ families and children as without a clear picture of the issues, policies run the risk of failing to respond adequately to the needs and often disadvantaged circumstances of these forgotten family members. Relatedly, readers are asked to keep in mind that the discussions about family members and children reveal the challenging experiences of people who have themselves committed no infractions; they have not been accused or convicted of breaking any law. From many standpoints  –​legal, ethical, logical, humanitarian and economic –​these relatives ought not to be punished as a result of the mother’s conviction, though realistically they are. Thus, to try to account for the nature, scope and ways in which this custodial sentence –​as a penal punishment aimed, legally, at the mother –​spills over into the lives and experiences of caregivers and the wider family, the concept of the ‘family sentence’ is also developed and woven throughout this book. Chapter overview Chapter Two outlines the methodology used in this book, including the theoretical framework and methods selected. Importantly, this chapter also introduces each of the 15 families who participated in this study to ensure that the reader is well acquainted with their lives and experiences. Chapters Three, Four, Five and Six present the accounts of caregiving relatives looking after the children of women in prisons serving England and Wales. Chapter Three examines family constructions and caregiving practices within families, paying close attention to the relationships within families and social networks. Chapter Four looks at the different ways in which caregivers had to renegotiate their lives in the aftermath of the mother’s sentence, both in the short and long term. Chapter Five focuses

16

The landscape of maternal imprisonment

on the caregiver’s experience of navigating the criminal justice system, and Chapter Six explores the caregiver’s social status, including experiences of stigma. Tying together the empirical findings, Chapter Seven reviews the key themes that underpin the research and that have emerged from listening to the caregiving kin: the ‘family sentence’ and the caregiver’s ‘disenfranchised social status’. In looking to the future and listening to families, these nuanced insights are used to inform recommendations to improve policy and practice. Finally, Chapter Eight is a reflective chapter that seeks to shed light on the experience of ‘doing’ the research. Summary Many of the issues traditionally associated with maternal imprisonment focus on the adversities and challenges facing mothers and children. This chapter has shown why there is also a need to understand the demands placed on the wider family –​and especially caregiving relatives –​during this time. Failing to do this ignores the social, penal and familial costs of separating thousands of family members every year. It could also perpetuate one-​dimensional images of maternal imprisonment in the criminal justice system, the media, policy and society that do not do justice to the severe complexities and ramifications of this form of punishment for the whole family. To begin to redress this balance, this book intends to highlight the lived experiences of caregiving kin so that they may be incorporated into our understanding of the implications of imprisoning a mother. The Preface to the book began by introducing readers to the story of Linda, a grandmother caring for her three grandsons following her daughter’s unexpected imprisonment. Likewise, the family-​centred approach underpinning the study places the caregivers’ thoughts, perceptions and experiences at the heart of the research process and, correspondingly, throughout this book.

17

MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

Notes 1

2

3 4

5

6

Following definitions of ‘kin’ and ‘kinship’ in the sociological literature, throughout this book, this term denotes anyone related to, or associated with, the family, including those traditionally seen as family through blood marriage and law, as well as friends and other members within the family’s social network (McCarthy and Edwards, 2011). However, there are welcomed discussions taking place which propose that sentences of six months or less should be removed (Dearden, 2019). This is through the adoption of principles in the Human Rights Act 1998. Depicting the population of female prisoners (both Welsh and English) in the prisons in England, the term ‘serving England and Wales’ will be used to account for the distribution of women’s prisons in this book. NICCO is an online information service established for anyone (for example, professionals and academics) who comes into contact with children and family members who have a relative in prison (see: https://​www.nicco.org. uk/​). Awareness of how prison is ‘hidden’ in our society was a key motivator for the prison placement that was undertaken before planning the study (see the Preface).

18

TWO Researching the caregiver’s lived experiences

Introduction The aim of the research presented throughout this book was to explore how maternal imprisonment was experienced from a family-​centred perspective. The intention was to provide an in-​depth analysis of the experiences and perceptions of relatives looking after children whose mothers were in prison. To explain how this was achieved, this chapter is divided into three sections: the first section provides a description of the theoretical framework; the second section is an overview of the research methods adopted; and the third section introduces the caregiving kin and their familial circumstances. While this third section veers away from conventional academic norms, it does enable the participants’ lives and experiences to be foregrounded not only to enable the reader to become familiar with their family circumstances, but also to act as a point of reference, a reminder of the realities that they were negotiating.

19

MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

Theoretical framework: ‘family practices’ Recent sociological conceptions of ‘the family’ emphasise the fluidity and active nature of ‘family practices’ by members of kin networks (Morgan, 1996, 1999, 2011), creating a useful lens with which to explore family life. ‘Family’ is characterised by interactions, roles and responsibilities that are negotiated and communicated, rather than normatively defined and static (Finch and Mason, 1993). As such, ‘individuals are doing family instead of simply passively residing within a pre-​g iven structure’ (Silva and Smart, 1999:  5, emphasis original). This perspective helps to account for the more diverse forms of family life observed in contemporary society, including the alternative living arrangements of adults, with more cohabiting couples, single-​occupancy households, re-​partnering and ‘blended’1 families, as well as the greater prominence of friendships (Williams, 2004). Although maternal imprisonment is not a new family formation, these changes in family construction will hold contextual and pragmatic significance for all forms of contemporary family research. For instance, as will be discussed later in this chapter, some caregiving kin interviewed in this study were friends of the family or in blended families (for example, two fathers interviewed were caring for both their biological and stepchildren). A hetero-​normative definition of ‘family’ in a nuclear construction (for example, a husband and wife living in a household with biological children) would not have accounted for these varied family forms. Yet, existing criminological research with prisoners’ families has failed to critically engage with more fluid definitions of ‘the family’ or, indeed, the sociological literature, which has instead explored family life through their active practices and a focus on what they are ‘doing’. Therefore, the innovative application of this theoretical framework in this study responds appropriately to this gap in order to generate a more nuanced account of caregiving in the context of maternal imprisonment.

20

Researching the caregiver’s lived experiences

Applying ‘family practices’ to maternal imprisonment

Morgan’s (1996, 1999, 2011) seminal work depicts the existence of fluidity in family life through his theory of ‘family practices’.2 He writes that ‘family represents a constructed quality of human interaction or an active process’ (Morgan, 1999: 16), which has a reactive capacity that changes in accordance with circumstances, and is located in culture, history and personal biography. Research from this perspective facilitates more openness around what counts as ‘family’, and while it does not deny the cultural and biological connections (such as those found in the nuclear family), it can also include other family-​like relationships (Jones, 2013). Such an approach allows social actors to create and negotiate their family obligations according to their own understandings and relationships, as is achieved using a constructionist epistemology (Berger and Luckman, 1966). Correspondingly, friendships and ‘fictive kin’ have become an area of increasing sociological interest in recent years (Allan, 2008; Wrzus et al, 2012), being considered as important in addition to familial relationships and, in some instances, as a substitute for them. To account for this, there is growing agreement that discussions about prisoners’ families should include greater diversity than just blood or marital kin ties (Jardine, 2018; Masson and Booth, 2018). Appropriately, ‘family practices’ are not isolated to the household, but extend beyond the boundaries of a family’s home and interact with other areas of existence. This indicates how familial issues  –​loss, relationships and practices  –​also manifest and intersect with different spaces and contexts in an individual’s life. The readjustments required following a mother’s conviction may overlap into other areas of family life, influencing school and work patterns, as well as routine practices like grocery shopping, while also inducing new activities, such as prison visits that take place at prescribed times and days. Thus, it is because the theory of ‘family practices’ can be widely applied to contemporary family life that Morgan (1999)

21

MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

encourages social inquiry using this lens to stratify other areas of study. In the context of this study, this theoretical framework was used to guide the exploration of maternal imprisonment –​ from the caregiver’s perspective. The research study The empirical, qualitative study underpinning this book used in-​depth interviews to explore the lives and perspectives of caregiving kin with first-​hand experience of maternal imprisonment. The fieldwork was conducted across four female prisons serving England and Wales in 2015. Two cohorts were interviewed:  the first one consisted of 15 mothers serving a custodial sentence; and the second one consisted of 24 caregiving kin from another 15 families. The second cohort was larger as in most families there was more than one person providing care to the mothers’ children, the significance of which is discussed in Chapter Three. Eligibility criteria ensured that in all the families, the imprisoned mother was convicted and sentenced, and had at least one child under 18 years of age. These criteria were decided, first, so that all the families had experienced the mother’s court proceedings and were able to reflect on this process and, second, because the age of 18 coincides with most legal thresholds of adulthood in England and Wales, as well as the cut-​off point for the parental responsibility of dependants –​though it is appreciated that mothering is not just limited to this age category. Findings from interviews with the mothers are published elsewhere (Booth, 2017a, 2018a, 2018b, forthcoming), while the experiences of the caregiver cohort are the focus of this book. Caregivers’ names have been changed to anonymise the data, and care has been taken at all stages to truthfully account for, and communicate, the voices of the caregivers.

22

Researching the caregiver’s lived experiences

Access and recruitment

In accordance with Prison Service Instruction (PSI) 22/​2014 (NOMS, 2014), permission to undertake the research was granted from the National Research Council (NRC) and subsequently from the governors managing the four establishments chosen as research sites. Accessing the caregiver cohort involved a flexible recruitment approach and several different avenues were explored (see Chapter Eight). Thirteen caregiver families were identified via prison visitors’ centres, while the remaining two (Miriam’s, and Derek and Madeline’s) were signposted to the study by prison family engagement workers. On making contact with the families, care was taken to ensure that ethical issues were mitigated as far as possible (see also Chapter Eight). For instance, to ensure that participants were well informed about the research purpose and process before they gave their consent to take part, detailed descriptions were given on information and consent forms, as well as communicated verbally to all potential participants. On agreeing to be interviewed, caregivers were asked to select a date, location and time convenient to them. Most interviews were conducted in the caregiver’s own home, while three were conducted in a public place, including a prison visitors’ centre. The recruitment approach shaped the sample as all of the caregivers interviewed were relatives or friends of the mother and in contact with her, and 14 were experiencing maternal imprisonment for the first time. Therefore, the insights achieved in this study must be read with these particular characteristics in mind, appreciating that their experiences may not be representative of all families during maternal imprisonment, for example: there are many reasons that women might not have contact with their family and friends during a prison sentence (Masson and Booth, 2018); 14 per cent of children are looked after in social care during maternal imprisonment (Caddle and Crisp, 1997); and only one quarter of all women are in prison for the first time (PRT, 2016). Nevertheless, there

23

MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

is much to be learned from the caregivers interviewed across the 15 families as the 24 caregivers were responsible for 30 children under 18 years of age whose mothers were in prison. Data collection and analysis

‘Prison’ is a word imbued with stigma and prejudice, and so research with prisoners’ families needs to be conducted with great care and sensitivity. In-​depth semi-​structured interviews were chosen because they ensured a more intimate environment for disclosures of potentially upsetting and sensitive issues. Data collection using the interview tool is premised on a dialogue and exchange between the interviewer and interviewee, and is well suited to research projects that focus on acquiring knowledge from experience (Braun and Clarke, 2013). Its methods are well equipped to allow the researcher to manage the exploration of preselected themes, while also responding to the emotionality of sensitive research topics by being reactive and flexible. The interviews carefully explored family life before the mothers’ imprisonments –​their living arrangements, childcare arrangements, relationships and daily routines and practices –​before asking them to reflect on these same areas since the conviction. Interestingly, this enabled a fuller understanding of the responses within families when the mother was imprisoned, including the point at which caregiving responsibilities changed or transferred. The interviews also examined the caregivers’ perspectives and experiences of establishing and maintaining contact, including visits and telephone calls. The interview did not explicitly ask participants to disclose the offence for which the mother had been convicted. From the prison placement (see the Preface and Chapter Eight), the researcher learned how an upfront question about the offence could hamper the building of rapport and trust between interviewer and interviewee. Given the aims of this study, it was much more important to explore caregivers’ thoughts, feelings

24

Researching the caregiver’s lived experiences

and experiences of their familial circumstances than to learn of the mother’s crimes. Nevertheless, most caregivers shared information of the mother’s offence in the interview when they believed this held importance to their experiences. For this reason, it is known that the offences included perverting the course of justice, drug-​related crimes, fraud and grievous bodily harm (GBH). All the interviews were audio-​recorded and transcribed. Thematic data analysis was used to organise and identify patterns and themes in the data (Braun and Clarke, 2006), which aligned with the social-​constructivist epistemology and family-​centred approach of the research as it prioritised the participants’ descriptions of their lives and experiences. The analysis was carried out manually but triangulated against the researchers’ fieldwork diary, which contained notes from undertaking a six-​month placement in a women’s prison (see the Preface and Chapter Eight) and during fieldwork for the study. Triangulation is important to corroborate the analytical interpretations and improve the validity of these by relying on different sources (King, 2000). Consequently, it was also relevant to judge the interview data against fieldwork observations during the placement in order to verify what had been gleaned and confirm the dependability of the findings (Cohen et al, 2011). The caregiving kin

Twenty-​four family members and family friends from 15 families were interviewed as part of this study, which was composed of nine joint interviews conducted with two caregivers and six individual interviews undertaken with one caregiver (see Table  2.1). All those interviewed self-​identified as having a caregiving role to the children. However, to meet the eligibility criteria, at least one family member interviewed had to identify as the children’s primary kin caregiver. For the purpose of this research, the primary kin caregiver was defined as an

25

MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

adult who lived with at least one child under 18 years of age whose mother was in prison, and who was performing the majority of the childcare responsibilities. This is why the first column in Table 2.1 identifies just the primary kin caregiver(s). In line with the social-​constructionist epistemology underpinning the study, the demarcation between caregiving roles occurred from the meaning-​making of participants when describing their family lives and practices. Appreciating that relationships and kin ties are complex, the definitions and boundaries of caregiving were fluid and diverse, meaning that it was important to pay close attention to the ascription of labels and definitions provided by participants themselves (Morgan, 1996, 1999, 2011). The joint interviews occurred from the wishes and preferences of the families to talk about their experiences together. The researcher asked if family members would prefer to be interviewed individually, and in all instances, the caregivers opted for a joint interview. Interestingly, they often explained this preference as due to two reasons: first, to ensure that their experience was fully captured in the interview; and, second, to provide emotional support to one another while talking about their difficult experiences. These motivations to participate in the study show the significance that participants placed on being able to have their voices heard, perhaps owing to their feelings of otherwise being ignored or isolated during the mother’s sentence (see Chapter Six). While Chapter Three explores the significance of the joint interviews further, it is important to note that both kin being interviewed sometimes self-​identified as primary kin caregivers (for example, Terry and Jasmine), whereas others differentiated their roles. This demarcation is emulated in Table 2.1 by the separate column for ‘other carers’. To clarify, some of these ‘other carers’ lived apart from the primary kin caregiver and children (for example, Mary, Emily and Lorriane), while others viewed themselves as having fewer caring responsibilities despite living in the same household (for example, Martin and Sandra).

26

newgenrtpdf

Table 2.1: Caregivers: their demographics and childcare arrangements Relationship to children

Age

Ethnicity*

Other carers at interview

No. of children

Children’s ages (years)

Children’s carer before CJS**

Changes to children’s residence

Shelia

Maternal grandmother

56

White British

–​

1

6

Mother and maternal grandparents

No change. Mother and grandson had lived with Shelia before arrest.

Pita

Father

38

Indian national

–​

1

12

Mother and father

Yes, after mother’s imprisonment, Pita and his son moved into Pita’s uncle’s house.

Miriam

Maternal grandmother

44

White British

Maternal great-​ grandmother (Mary)

3

2, 4, 6

Mother

Yes, after mother’s arrest, the children moved into Miriam’s home.

Researching the caregiver’s lived experiences

27

Primary kin caregiver

newgenrtpdf

Table 2.1: Caregivers: their demographics and childcare arrangements (continued) Relationship to children

Age

Ethnicity*

Other carers at interview

No. of children

Children’s ages (years)

Children’s carer before CJS**

Changes to children’s residence

Lucy and Kristen***

Maternal grandmother and mother’s cousin

51, 33

White British

–​

2

11 months, 3

Mother and father

Yes, after mother’s imprisonment, the children moved into Lucy’s and Kristen’s homes. Father was in prison.

Daniel

(Step)father

42

White British

–​

4

9, 10, 17, 18

Mother and (step)father

No change. Daniel and children remained in family home.

42****

British

–​

1

5

Maternal grandparents, mother and father

No, Martha and Malcolm had guardianship of their grandson for three years before his mother’s arrest.

Martha and Maternal Malcolm grandparents

MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

28

Primary kin caregiver

newgenrtpdf

Table 2.1: Caregivers: their demographics and childcare arrangements (continued) 41

White African

Maternal great-​ grandmother (Sandra)

2

1, 3

Mother

Yes, after mother’s imprisonment, the children moved into Ava’s home. Father imprisoned at same time.

Shannon

Maternal grandmother

53

White British

–​

4

6 months, 8, 9, 10

Mother

Yes, after mother’s imprisonment, children moved into Shannon’s home. Father was in prison.

Annette

Maternal grandmother

47

White British

Maternal grandfather (Martin)

1

6

Maternal grandparents and mother

No, Annette had guardianship of her grandson for three years before his mother’s arrest.

Researching the caregiver’s lived experiences

Maternal grandmother

29

Ava

newgenrtpdf

Table 2.1: Caregivers: their demographics and childcare arrangements (continued) Age

Ethnicity*

Other carers at interview

Claudia

Maternal grandmother

51

British

Janice

Maternal grandmother

53

Kevin

(Step)father

39

No. of children

Children’s ages (years)

Children’s carer before CJS**

Changes to children’s residence

Claudia’s 1 friend (Emily)

9

Maternal grandmother

No, Claudia had guardianship of her grandson for six years before his mother’s arrest.

White British

Mother’s friend (Lorraine)

2

10 months, 6

Mother and father

Yes, after mother’s imprisonment, children moved into Janice’s home.

****

–​

5

7 months, 7, 8, 13, 15

Mother and (step)father

No change. Kevin and children remained in family home.

MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

Relationship to children

30

Primary kin caregiver

newgenrtpdf

Table 2.1: Caregivers: their demographics and childcare arrangements (continued) 44

White British

–​

1

2

Mother and father

Yes, after mother’s arrest, granddaughter moved into Rebecca’s home. Father imprisoned at same time.

Terry and Jasmine

Maternal grandparents

59, 67

British

–​

1

3

Mother

Yes, after mother’s arrest, mother and grandson moved into Terry and Jasmine’s home.

Derek and Madeline

Maternal grandparents

65, 69

White British

–​

2

4, 10

Mother

Yes, after mother’s arrest, mother and granddaughters moved into Derek and Madeline’s home.

Notes: * Ethnicity was self-​identified by the participant, explaining why some do not represent official ethnic groups. ** Criminal Justice System. *** The children were living in separate households: one with Lucy and one with Kristen. **** Data missing. Source:  Author’s own research.

Researching the caregiver’s lived experiences

Maternal grandmother

31

Rebecca

MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

The caregiving kin: a personal introduction Given the diverse and intricate web of family roles and relationships identified within the sample of families, there is value in further introducing each of the 15 families whose lives and experiences are presented in this book. Providing this thick description will not only help bring the caregivers and their experiences to life, but also improve the transferability of the study by enabling sufficient information for a judgement about the accuracy of findings to be made (Shenton, 2004). As generalisability is not the cornerstone for qualitative research, transferability acts as an alternative means to assess the context and quality of the research being presented. It might also act as a point of reference for readers to remind themselves of the circumstances and experiences of the families being discussed hereafter. As such, the remainder of this chapter acquaints the reader with each of the families who shared their experiences for the purpose of this study. Shelia learned about the research via a poster in the prison visitors’ centre, stating that she was keen to share her experiences because she was frustrated at the lack of consideration that had been afforded to her six-​year-​old grandson when his mother was sentenced to six years in prison. Shelia’s daughter and grandson had been living with Shelia and her husband in their semi-​detached house in London for several years. Although Shelia had been involved in caring for her grandson before the custodial sentence, she explained how the absence of her daughter  –​as her grandson’s primary carer –​meant that she had to reduce her working hours and change retirement travel plans. They had to closely watch their finances, which were dwindling owing to the lower household income from their daughter’s lost wages, alongside increased caregiving costs. Shelia was also upset that she had less time and resources to spend with her other grandson, who was born to her son and his partner around the same time that her daughter was sentenced.

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Researching the caregiver’s lived experiences

Pita, an Indian national living with his 12-​year-​old son and extended family in Central London, also learned about the research in the prison visitors’ centre. Along with his wife and son, he had relocated to England in 2009, stating that they hoped for ‘a better life’. Pita’s wife had been the main breadwinner before losing her job when she received a 14-​month prison sentence. Their reduced income led Pita and his son to move in with their extended family. Cultural norms around family values and roles meant that Pita felt ill-​prepared to care for his son alone. Pita was looking for work to help contribute to the shared household while spending much time on his wife’s appeal. Pita strongly asserted his wife’s innocence and believed that she had been wrongly accused. Miriam learned of the research via the prison family engagement worker and asked to be interviewed in the prison visitors’ centre. On the day of the interview, she was visiting with her mother (Mary) and her two youngest granddaughters (aged four and two years). The children were attending a toddler group with their mother, Miriam’s daughter, in the prison. Miriam had been looking after her granddaughters for 30 months when she was interviewed. She had assumed immediate care for them following an unexpected phone call from social services asking her to collect them from the police station when her daughter was arrested. Miriam had thought that this care would be temporary as she did not believe her daughter to have committed any wrongdoing. However, following her daughter’s trial, Miriam had accepted that she would be raising her granddaughters as there was little likelihood that social services would permit her daughter to resume care. Her granddaughters were fathered by two men:  one had supervised contact; the other was not permitted contact. Mary was present during the interview but made very few comments. She had been supporting Miriam with childcare during the school holidays but usually lived in Ireland. Mary felt that Miriam’s experiences should be the focus of the interview.

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MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

Lucy had three children. In her home lived her youngest daughter (aged six years), while her two adult children lived on the same housing estate but with their own families, including Lucy’s three grandchildren. Two of these grandchildren belonged to Lucy’s oldest daughter, who was given a 16-​month custodial sentence owing to her involvement in her partner’s criminal activities, which had also resulted in his imprisonment 12  months earlier. Lucy had initially assumed care for both of her daughter’s children when she was sentenced but later relied on another relative, Kristen (the mother’s second cousin), for support with her youngest grandchild, who was only 11 months old. Lucy and Kristen worked together to look after the children, sharing resources and responsibilities across their two households, while Lucy’s son provided financial assistance by way of paying his sister’s rent. They hoped that the 11-​month-​old baby would be reunited with his mother in the prison MBU, expecting news any day as the mother had already been in prison for two months when they were interviewed. Lucy and Kristen were the first caregivers to opt for a joint interview as Lucy had invited Kristen to participate after she learned of the study in the prison visitors’ centre and had arranged for the interview to take place in her home. Two caregivers from separate families, Daniel and Claudia, had become acquaintances in the prison visitors’ centre and learned about the research at the same time. Daniel opted into the study first, indicating a willingness to describe the impact that his wife’s short sentence was having on his four daughters (two of whom were biological and two of whom were stepchildren). Daniel lived in the north-​east of England on the edge of a housing estate that he described as having a ‘bad reputation’; however, he hoped that having the interview in his home would shed light on their poor financial circumstances. Daniel’s wife had been the breadwinner in their household as he suffered from poor mental and physical health, and was currently receiving Statutory Sick Pay.3 Her offence

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Researching the caregiver’s lived experiences

had been financially motivated, and despite having repaid the amount stolen before her court date, she was unexpectedly sentenced to just nine weeks in custody. Some months after Daniel participated in a research interview, Claudia also asked to take part. In a very different way to Daniel, Claudia’s daughter was serving a sentence with a minimum 15-​year tariff and had already been in custody for nearly three years at the time of the interview. Claudia’s grandson had lived with her for several years, even before her daughter’s arrest, but she had always facilitated regular mother-​child contact. Social services had moved Claudia’s grandson into her care as a safeguarding measure against her daughter’s violent partner. When her daughter, through self-​defence, was later responsible for the death of this same violent partner, Claudia was motivated to continue facilitating regular mother-​child contact. She lived in a coastal town in the north east of England but undertook a round trip totalling over 200 miles fortnightly to facilitate contact. Claudia did not know the whereabouts of her grandson’s father, but she had support from friends, especially Emily, who joined Claudia for the interview. In a similar way to Claudia, maternal grandparents Martha and Malcolm had been responsible for their grandson for several years following a safeguarding intervention by social services. Malcolm first learned about the research in the prison visitors’ centre and invited his wife, Martha, to take part. As they lived in a remote area in the south east of England, they opted to meet in a cafe near the prison where their daughter was being detained for their interview. They had not expected their daughter to receive a custodial sentence as this was her first, non-​violent offence, and on discovering that similar cases to their daughters had seen support provided (for example, to respond to mental ill health), they were frustrated that the same level of support had not been extended to their daughter. Neither Martha nor Malcolm was working, but they had financial and practical support from their grandson’s father, who had daily contact and often assumed care for him over the weekend.

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MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

Ava had an informal agreement with her granddaughters’ paternal grandparents that should have seen them assume care every weekend while the parents of the children were serving their respective custodial sentences. However, to Ava’s dismay, this support was not actualised. Ava’s daughter was sentenced to ten months in prison alongside her partner for drug-​related offences. They had two young daughters, aged three and one years old, but their parental status was not considered during their court hearing and so both were sentenced to immediate custody leaving the children unaccounted for. Ava was already caring for her mother (Sandra) when she assumed responsibility for her granddaughters. She found it particularly difficult to juggle the needs of her loved ones and was feeling exhausted from caring ‘full time, 24-​7’. Ava requested to be interviewed at home and it became evident that this was so that she could be ‘available’ for Sandra –​who contributed to the discussion when in earshot –​and to continue with domestic tasks (for example, ironing and laundry) during the interview. Annette’s interview was much like Ava’s in that she wanted to be interviewed in her home in Northern England so that she did not have to find replacement care for her grandson during the interview. Although Annette’s husband, Martin, was also present, he was ‘on call’ with work. Annette’s six-​year-​old grandson had lived with them for over three years, though his mother had seen him daily prior to her imprisonment. Her grandson’s father had irregular contact. Much of Annette’s concern focused on the placement of her daughter’s unborn child as the baby was due to be born the week following the research interview and she was unsure whether a place on the MBU had been secured. Annette wanted anything but her unborn grandchild to be taken into local authority care; however, she also knew that she and Martin would be unable to assume full-​time care owing to their already stretched finances. The father of her unborn grandchild had not been approved to look after the baby following an assessment by social services, creating uncertainty about what would happen.

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Researching the caregiver’s lived experiences

Shannon talked about the unreliability of the three respective fathers to her four grandchildren, indicating that this was why she and her husband had assumed care for the children when her daughter was sentenced to 16 months in prison. Shannon’s youngest grandchild, aged six months, had been moved into the prison MBU to live with her daughter, while the three school-​aged grandchildren had moved into her home on the day her daughter was taken into prison. This was the second time that Shannon’s daughter had been to prison, though this was several years before when she had just one child. This history caused Shannon to feel anger towards her daughter, calling her ‘selfish’ for engaging in criminal activities while being the primary and sole carer for her four children. Shannon and her husband had alternated shift patterns to enable them to juggle their paid work with their increased caregiving responsibilities, giving them little respite or time together. Shannon was particularly worried about the long-​ term impact that this period of disruption and separation would have on her grandchildren. Likewise, Janice was exceptionally emotional about her daughter’s 12-​year sentence as she not only believed in her daughter’s innocence, but was also concerned about the impact of separating a mother from two young children, the youngest of whom was only seven months old when her daughter went to prison and had been breastfeeding. Janice moved the children into her home on the day her daughter was imprisoned as her daughter’s husband (and biological father to their youngest child) had initially refused to continue caring for them alone. For Janice, the children’s needs and well-​being took precedence, and she facilitated contact as frequently as she could afford. Janice relied on her social support system for assistance with childcare, indicating that her daughter’s best friend, Lorraine, had provided invaluable assistance. Janice and Lorraine engaged in a joint interview after Lorraine learned about the study during a family visit at the prison. This was the first time that either of them had come into contact with

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MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

the criminal justice system, finding the processes and rules confusing and inaccessible. Kevin lived in a detached four-​bedroomed house on the south coast of England and continued looking after his four stepchildren after his partner (their mother) received a three-​ year sentence. Kevin and his partner had a baby boy together who lived in the prison MBU but was frequently brought home to spend time with Kevin and his siblings. The biological father to two of Kevin’s stepchildren was actively involved in caretaking while their mother was in prison, and Kevin described this arrangement as ‘co-​parenting’. Although the prison sentence had been expected, Kevin talked about the harsh, everyday realities of raising the five children apart from his partner, and was looking forward to her return home. Kevin had family (maternal and paternal) nearby but he found the two-​hour interview particularly cathartic as he felt that it had provided him with an opportunity to reflect upon and assess his family life for the first time in five months since the start of the prison sentence. Rebecca’s daughter and daughter’s partner had been imprisoned at the same time for a related offence. While Rebecca was sure that they were not guilty, she agreed to assume the full-​time care of her granddaughter, who was removed from their care by social services at the time of arrest. Rebecca had two younger children, aged ten and 14 years, who already lived in the household, and the addition of her granddaughter significantly altered their everyday routines and practices. Part of this came from having a baby in the house, whose needs took precedence, but it was also due to Rebecca having moved her daughter’s possessions into her own home when she had ended her daughter’s housing tenancy, causing Rebecca’s hall and stairway to be stacked high with household items, such as furniture, clothes and toys. Rebecca talked of three friends who had supported her since her daughter’s imprisonment but also of some negative reactions from people known to the family on social media.

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Researching the caregiver’s lived experiences

Derek and Madeline assumed care for their two granddaughters (aged four and ten years) when their daughter was sentenced to four years imprisonment. Both were retired and this was the first time that they had come into contact with the criminal justice system, and they felt isolated and stigmatised by neighbours in their small, rural village. However, they were steadfast in their view that the children would not be taken into local authority care. They had attempted to mitigate this by agreeing for their daughter and granddaughters to relocate into their home after the arrest in order to settle the children in case a custodial sentence was delivered. Although they had put in place these domestic arrangements, they did not ‘actually’ expect their daughter to be imprisoned and subsequently did not know how to access information and support when she was taken away. The children’s respective fathers had irregular contact, while their daughter’s current partner had provided much-​needed financial and practical support. As with Derek and Madeline, maternal grandparents Terry and Jasmine also started co-​parenting with their daughter when she moved into their home with their grandson after her arrest. They felt that their daughter’s trial had been unfair and they managed to successfully appeal against the length of her sentence, reducing it from 12 years to eight years. Terry and Jasmine learned about the research in the prison visitors’ centre, having recognised the study following their engagement with the researcher during a placement with the family support team located at the prison that their daughter was detained in (for more information, see the Preface). At the time of the interview, their grandson was three-​and-​a-​half years old, having spent three years separated from his mother. Terry and Jasmine anticipated that their daughter would be released on Home Detention Curfew (HDC)4 in the next 12 months, and were keen to reunite mother and child soon thereafter. They lived in a semi-​detached house in a southern coastal town; therefore, wherever their daughter was detained, a prison visit involved embarking on at least a 200-​mile round trip. Their grandson’s

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MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

father had been in and out of prison, often on drug-​related charges, and had very little, inconsistent contact. Summary The application of Morgan’s (1999, 2011) theoretical concept of ‘family practices’ provides a helpful and new lens with which to explore family life during maternal imprisonment. It complements the social-​constructivist epistemological approach and semi-​structured interview as the research tool used to collect the data. This research approach allows for the development of a greater understanding about the lives, experiences and family constructions of families with first-​ hand experience of a mother’s imprisonment, and is already showing how the custodial sentence reaches beyond the individual being punished, demonstrating the ‘family sentence’ served by and within the wider familial network. In Chapter Three, the family constructions are explored further, providing a more in-​depth look at the ways in which caregiving was arranged, shared and renegotiated in families following maternal imprisonment. Notes 1

2

3 4

Blended families can comprise two adults with children that they have had together (their biological children) and/​or one or more children that they have had with a previous partner (their stepchildren). Morgan (1999: 17–​18) outlines six related themes that convey ‘family practices’: the interplay between the perspectives of the social actor and audience; a sense of active rather than passive; a focus on the everyday; a stress on regularities; a sense of fluidity; and an interplay between history and biography. Statutory Sick Pay is paid when someone is too sick to work. HDC (or ‘tag’ as it is more commonly known) is usually available to prisoners around halfway into their sentence, allowing prisoners to serve the remainder of their sentence in the community under probation.

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THREE Family constructions and caregiving practices

Introduction This chapter examines the nature and scope of caregiving practices within families to better understand how families can be constructed during maternal imprisonment. Although there is growing international awareness of the ‘collateral consequences’ of imprisonment on children and families (Gordon, 2018; Condry and Scharff Smith, 2018), Jardine (2018) suggests that this has tended to focus narrowly on the prisoners’ immediate families. There is much still to be learned about the caregiving arrangements within families and the ways in which these can shape family life during maternal imprisonment. Importantly, caregivers in this study explained how the repercussions of losing the mothers to prison were felt by many relatives and friends within their kinship networks. Although varied and complex, this depended upon their family constructions, interactions and engagement in –​or exposure to –​caregiving practices. The three distinct characteristics that were observed within families are discussed in this chapter.

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MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

First, the joint interviews (see Chapter Two) reveal something important about the way in which families were collectively responding to the mothers’ imprisonments. Both the joint interviews and caregivers’ descriptions show the meaning, nature and value of collective caregiving practices within the families, facilitating nuanced insights into the families’ shared responses to the mothers’ imprisonments. The value of using Morgan’s (2011) theoretical concept of ‘family practices’ is apparent as discussions about ‘family’ are active, subjectively defined and not restricted to the household (see Chapter Two). Second, following previous research (Caddle and Crisp, 1997; Raikes, 2016), the majority of the children were being looked after by women, either solely or alongside their partners or other female kin. Codd (2008) has argued that caregiving and support for prisoners and their children falls to female relatives in the family. The findings here not only support these gendered caregiving trends, but also indicate that during a mother’s imprisonment, it is maternal kin who take on these responsibilities. Importantly, the new caregiving responsibilities for these women had implications for their own children and other grandchildren in the family. Therefore, it is important that discussions about maternal imprisonment consider the needs and experiences of this other group of ‘doubly’ invisible children. Third, one explanation for female relatives assuming the bulk of care may be the smaller uptake of care from the children’s fathers. Previous research has indicated that only 10 per cent of children reside with their fathers during maternal imprisonment (Caddle and Crisp, 1997) and, similarly, father-​caregivers were identified in just three families in this study (see Chapter Two). In two of these, (step)father-​caregivers1 (Daniel and Kevin) were looking after both their biological children and stepchildren. There has been little qualitative research that has attempted to understand why fathers are generally found to play a smaller caregiving role to children, though this is assumed to reflect wider gendered caregiving trends in society (Codd,

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Family constructions and caregiving practices

2008). Discussions in the final section of this chapter explore the positionality of the children’s fathers, as well as father–​ children relationships, from the perspectives of caregivers. Joint interviews and collective caregiving There are possible gains in observing how many of the families wanted to talk about their experiences of caregiving in a joint interview (see Chapter Two). Although, in most instances, the interview had been arranged with one family member, other kin were present at the scheduled interview and wanted to take part. Both were offered a consent form and agreed to be interviewed together. Analysis of the joint interviews indicated that this collective participation in the interview reflected the shared approach that many families adopted in managing the mother’s absence. Frequently, phrases like ‘we have’ or ‘we think’ were used, discursively illustrating their shared experiences, conceptualised here as collective caregiving. This can be seen in the exchange between two primary kin caregivers, Lucy and Kristen, who were explaining how ‘they’ felt, and how they were responding to the first few days following the mother’s removal into prison: Lucy:

‘We just felt completely overwhelmed, you know, crying, in shock, you know, feeling sick, not being able to eat, we just…’ Kristen: ‘Like, what we gonna do?’ Lucy: ‘Yeah, like, what we gonna do? How long’s it gonna be? How long has she got to serve? You know, I’ve got her daughter [saying] “When’s Mummy coming home? When’s Mummy coming home?” ’… Kristen: ‘We were just kind of trying to find, like, a routine for us all.’ (Lucy, grandmother; Kristen, cousin)

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MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

Similar accounts were also found in joint interviews between primary kin caregivers and other carers. For instance, Janice and Lorraine also articulate their joint response to the mother’s imprisonment: Natalie2: ‘And what do you think about that time, from arrest to being sentenced?’ Lorraine: ‘Horrible.’ Janice: ‘Horrendous.’ Lorraine: ‘Horrid, it were a shock.’ Janice: ‘We just lost loads of weight, didn’t we?’ Lorraine: ‘Yeah, we couldn’t, we just thought “We’ve got her children to sort out, her house.” ’ (Janice, grandmother; Lorraine, friend) In both of these exchanges, it is clear that the caregivers are working together to communicate their reactions while also revealing how they understood childcare and other tasks to be a shared responsibility. Morgan’s (1999) theoretical understanding of ‘family practices’ reminds us that family is (re)active, fluid and dynamic. However, family practices are something that are generally ‘done’, rather than something that are talked about. As such, the joint interview format not only enabled relatives to talk about how they were ‘doing’ collective caregiving, but also provided an opportunity to enact this in situ. The reorganisation of practices, positions and responsibilities within families had often been a combined effort. Supportive collective caregiving practices

A striking finding was that all the primary kin caregivers mentioned other relatives and friends who were providing vital, tangible support to them following the mother’s imprisonment. This meant that as well as the joint interviews, collective caregiving practices were also observed in the

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Family constructions and caregiving practices

caregivers’ accounts of their family relationships and dynamics. Codd’s (2008) suggestion that people in the family’s close social network can ‘rally around’ one another when a person is imprisoned is reflected in these findings. Given the complexities of family life, and the variance across families, it is not possible to quantify the number of other relatives and friends in collective caregiving. However, practices could include receiving help with childcare, such as child-​minding or the school run, while some were also being supported financially. It is important to bear in mind that although primary kin caregivers were responsible for a larger proportion of childcare activities in providing physical, practical, material, economic and emotional support (see Chapters Four, Five and Six), their narratives clearly showed how caregiving was not a solo endeavour. This can be seen in the following exchange between Miriam and Mary: Miriam: ‘We have help; my mum and dad are back and forward, they live in Ireland, I’ve got two brothers that live locally as well and obviously my friends.’ Mary: ‘Miriam has been through everything with her daughter, Miriam and her husband have always been there for her, but we [live] in Ireland, we couldn’t be there for everything, but we try our best to help … I mind the children when I come … but Miriam’s been there the whole time and does the most.’ (Miriam, grandmother; Mary, great-​grandmother) Primary kin caregivers ascribed considerable meaning to the practical, financial and emotional support from family and friends. It was clear that this was greatly valued as it better enabled them to cope a little better with their changed family circumstances. Kevin articulates his appreciation for having this support from relatives: “I’m very lucky because I’ve got

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a great family and, you know, they’re always there to support me if I  need it, like I  said, everyone is asking if I’m ok” (Kevin, [step]father). As well as biological and marital kin, two of the carers interviewed were family friends (Lorraine and Emily  –​ see Chapter Two). Likewise, primary kin caregivers, such as Rebecca, mentioned vital support from their friends. Friendships or ‘fictive kin’ have increasingly become a dominant form of support mechanism in contemporary relationships, both in addition to familial relationships and, in some instances, as a substitute for family relationships (Wrzus et al, 2012; Masson and Booth, 2018). Rebecca describes the support provided by her three friends: ‘I have three friends who I rely on who would be a bit like the scaffolding for me … I always feel like I don’t need a lot of people in my life, but the ones I have are very reliable, you know, and that has been good in the circumstances.’ (Rebecca, grandmother) International research has recurrently identified a strong social support network as a key mechanism to help individuals in crisis, including with health-​related issues in the US (Kroenke et al, 2006), bereavement in Sweden (Benkel et al, 2009) and divorce in Poland (Kołodziej-​Zaleska and Przybyła-​Basista, 2018). Likewise, in the family crisis that follows maternal imprisonment, there is evidence that social support networks, composed of blood, marital and friendship ties, also have significance for caregivers. The nature and extent of collective caregiving practices

The nature and extent of support with caregiving varied across and within families, depending on the level of need and individual circumstances. Having explored family life prior to the mother’s imprisonment, it became clear that many caregiving practices were not always new, but extended to compensate

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Family constructions and caregiving practices

for the mother’s absence. For instance, before his partner went to prison, Kevin had co-​parented with her and lived with his four stepchildren. Kevin’s stepchildren would visit their two biological fathers (respectively) at agreed times during the week. The father to three of his stepchildren had noticed the additional burden that parenting alone had placed on Kevin and, as a result of this, assumed a greater caregiving role in order to give Kevin a ‘night off’ once a week: ‘The kids probably spend more time with their dad, whereas, like, on a Monday, if their mum was home, sort of around 7 o’clock, they would be dropped off but he has them overnight now and takes them to school on a Tuesday … I think he thinks that I probably need a break, just a night to yourself where you can just relax and not run around like tidying the house and catch up.’ (Kevin, [step]father) Like Kevin, in some families, the provision of childcare support had become routine in response to the caregivers’ needs. For Janice, this support enabled her to continue working 15 hours a week because she knew that the mother’s best friend (Lorraine), her sister-​in-​law and her son took it in turns to look after her baby grandson: ‘It’s lucky that I’ve got a good support network of Lorraine and some of my [family], my other son, and because he works two until eight at night, so he’ll come and look after the baby while I go and do my three hours a day [work] but my sister-​in-​law will help as well, take it in turns if you will.’ (Janice, grandmother) In a different way, collective caregiving practices could also be ad hoc. Shannon explained how the children’s great aunt helped with childcare in the children’s school holidays. This not only helped Shannon negotiate her caregiving responsibilities

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around work commitments and her limited leave capacity, but also saved her from paying for professional childcare: ‘We’ve got a teacher-​training day at the end of November and it’s a Wednesday [and] I’ve, like, used all me [work] holidays for the school holidays, so another family member, their great aunt … she helped me, like, through the school holidays when needed, she would have them [and she] said “Look, we said we’d have them to help out so you don’t have to use all your holidays” so she’s going to have them on that Wednesday.’ (Shannon, grandmother) Strained finances are a common finding in research with prisoners’ families (SEU, 2002; Christian et  al, 2006), and another important characteristic of collective caregiving was economic support from relatives. Pita had initially lived alone with his son following his wife’s imprisonment but the loss of her income in the household put a strain on their resources. A month following her imprisonment, they moved into his Pita’s uncle’s home: “My uncle is who I’m staying with now. We moved after she went to prison and [because] my uncle is working, he supports me financially because he knows the situation” (Pita, father). It was clear that a number of different relatives and friends had extended their practices and the sharing of resources to respond –​directly and indirectly –​to the welfare and caregiving needs of the mother’s children. Although the custodial sentence is supposed to only punish the mother, these accounts begin to show how the lives and experiences of several individuals were affected, highlighting the damaging nature and far-​reaching scope of the ‘family sentence’ experienced within these networks. The strain of collective caregiving

While revealing the value of collective caregiving practices, caregivers were also acutely aware of the additional strain that

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Family constructions and caregiving practices

this placed on family and friends. As with the primary kin caregivers (see Chapter Four), relatives assumed these additional responsibilities as they felt that this was the ‘best’ thing to do for the children and family. Although caregiving kin can be willing to make sacrifices (Booth, forthcoming), doing so created additional personal and financial pressures that could be challenging to manage. This struggle is illuminated by Lucy while explaining how her son was paying his sister’s rent while she was in prison in the hope that she would have a home to return to on her release: ‘He’s just managing to pay the rent, my son, so that she’s got a home to come home to; otherwise, she’d have to start from scratch … he’s struggling you know, he’s got his own mortgage to pay and that, but it’s his sister and that, so you’ve got to do it.’ (Lucy, grandmother) In a slightly different way, when Ava assumed the full-​time care of her two granddaughters, she had to balance these childcare responsibilities against caring full time for her mother, Sandra, who had severe health issues. Both her granddaughters and mother resided in Ava’s two-​bedroomed house. Sandra was present during parts of the interview and expressed some frustration about the frequency at which she saw her great-​ grandchildren, suggesting how this was no longer a ‘treat’, but a necessity: “We take the brunt of it, having the kids. I’m sorry I’m bleak but I’m 60 years old and I don’t need to be looking after kids all the time, I want to do it as a treat” (Sandra, great-​ grandmother). Age-​related concerns were also raised by Miriam when discussing the knock-​on effect that assuming care for her granddaughters initially caused for her husband. She explains how they had married after their own children had ‘grown up’ and had not expected to have children at their age and life stage: ‘It was a shock because, obviously, my husband’s children are grown up, he’s got two children who have grown up

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and, well, my daughter is also [grown up] so we could do what we liked within reason, but he has come round to it though … I can’t say “No, you can’t do any of that ‘cause we’ve got three small children” because we didn’t have those children together, it wasn’t a choice for him.’ (Miriam, grandmother) While there is strength in the social support systems within the caregivers’ kinship networks, this section also reminds us of the pressures –​personal, relational and economic –​of providing this assistance. Although not explicitly reported in this study, it is not outside the realm of possibility that this could fracture relationships, causing further pain and separation within families. These findings have important implications for policy and practice by illuminating not only the many lives affected by the imprisonment of a mother, but also the harmful consequences of a ‘family sentence’. Doubly invisible children When we consider that of the 24 caregivers interviewed, 16 were grandparents and five were female relatives or friends (see Chapter Two), it is unsurprising that many had other dependent children and grandchildren. Yet, discussions about the children affected by maternal imprisonment refer only to the imprisoned mothers’ own children. This group of prisoners’ children have been the focus of considerable research attention more recently in England and Wales (Minson, 2018a; PRT, 2018) and internationally (Jones et al, 2013; Gordon, 2018). The literature shows how these children have remained ‘invisible’ as their needs, human rights and welfare are overlooked within society, policy and practice. Findings from this study indicate that this invisibility may also be shared by other children within the family, who are rendered ‘doubly’ invisible. In addition to the imprisoned mothers and their children, the

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Table 3.1: Doubly invisible children Relationship to caregiver

Number of children

Adult children

9

Children (under 18 years old)

4

Grandchildren (under 18 years old)

7

Total

20

Total (under 18 years old)

11

Source: Author’s own research.

primary kin caregivers identified other children and grandchildren, as shown in Table 3.1. Table 3.1 shows that in addition to the 30 children whose mothers were in prison, another 11 children under 18 years of age were also experiencing disruptions in relationships with their parents and grandparents as a result of maternal imprisonment. Until now, these children and grandchildren have largely been absent in discussions concerning caregiving practices during maternal imprisonment. Caregivers’ dependent children

There has been little consideration of the impact of domestic changes that follow maternal imprisonment for the caregivers’ own dependent children living in the household. As with previous research (Caddle and Crisp, 1997), over half of the imprisoned mothers’ children moved into the caregivers’ homes following the mothers’ arrest or imprisonment (see Chapter Two). Previous research has indicated how this rearrangement can be unsettling and challenging for the mothers’ children (PRT, 2018), but many primary kin caregivers were also worried about the impact on their own children. Rebecca’s two children (aged ten and 14) were living with her when she agreed to look after her eldest daughter’s child following her arrest. Rebecca noticed how

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having her baby granddaughter in the house was challenging for her youngest daughter, who was no longer the ‘baby’ in the family: ‘My daughter is the younger one … she found it the hardest because she’s always been the baby and I think she found my granddaughter coming in, being a baby, more challenging than my son did. My son just sort of went with the flow and we’ve had to make special privileges with my daughter so I make special time to have with her and make a point of that being “This is my special time with you.” ’ (Rebecca, grandmother) Similarly, she explained how their ‘family practices’ (Morgan, 1999) were readjusted when she assumed care for her granddaughter as what they were ‘doing’ as a family had to respond to having a baby in the household: ‘It was just like having a new baby but I think it was more of a shock for them, the sleepless nights. Had we been preparing to have a baby, you go through this period where you get yourself in a place where you’re prepared for that, and the children are prepared for it coming, so it was quite a sudden change for them but they did adapt very well … it’s only as she’s been here longer and as they’ve realised this is a long-​term situation for us that they’re a bit like “Well, when she wasn’t here, we could do a certain thing because we are older now” and I said “I know, we’ll just have to wait a bit longer” and, you know, we just can’t do those things. I mean, like, we’re going to the cinema with her now and so there are things that they think they were missing out on, but it’s just part and parcel of what we do.’ (Rebecca, grandmother) ‘Family practices’ are responsive and fluid to fluctuating family dynamics and circumstances but unexpected changes in what

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the family can ‘do’ were also difficult for Rebecca’s own children to initially understand and accept. Several caregivers described how relationships with their own children had altered, having become strained following the introduction of the mother’s children into the household. Kristen recognised how assuming care for the mother’s 11-​month-​old baby meant that much of her attention was focused on him and diverted away from her own children: ‘I’ve got a little girl who’s seven and a little boy at five and they idolise their cousins but when it comes to the baby … obviously babies take up a lot more time so I think they felt like their noses had been pushed out a bit and then when he were screaming in night, like with his teeth, the kids were waking up … so there is going to be resentment and things.’ (Kristen, cousin) Lucy explained the difficulties of negotiating some of the resentment and jealousy that her younger daughter (aged six) was feeling when her granddaughter (aged three) moved into her home. Previously, it had been the two of them in the house and so her daughter was having some trouble adjusting to living alongside another child, sharing her mum and her toys: ‘I’ve got my daughter saying that as soon as my granddaughter moves back, she’s going to sleep in my bed for a year ‘cause it’s just always been [us] we were a good little team, me and her, [and] I know it’s only short term but … my daughter just sees her [my granddaughter] as someone who just drives her mad and gets on her nerves and wants everything she’s playing with.’ (Lucy, grandmother) These findings illuminate new insights into the widespread impact that a mother’s imprisonment brings and, specifically, how the caregivers’ own children were subjected to serious

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disruptions and adjustments following the addition of the imprisoned mother’s children into their home. Although the interviews did not engage directly with children, the caregivers’ accounts go some way in indicating how the reorganisation of practices and caregiving within families significantly impacted the daily lives, relationships and experiences of their own children. Given these findings, it is important that discussions about children impacted by imprisonment include a greater recognition or consideration of these dependants. Failing to do so will continue rendering them ‘doubly’ invisible. Caregivers’ adult children and grandchildren

Across the 15 families, there were 16 grandparent caregivers. Assuming full-​time care for their imprisoned daughters’ children changed their role, availability and resources as grandparents to other relatives, which aligns with other research into grandparent carers (Jendrek, 1993; Hayslip and Kaminski, 2005). Shelia felt cheated as a grandmother because she could not spend the same amount of time or money on her two grandsons as she felt that she had to prioritise the grandson in her care: ‘When I go out shopping, I’m buying my grandson a lot of clothes ‘cause I’ve got to buy him his clothes … the other one is missing out and I think my son feels like I’m spoiling my grandson and not his son when, in fact, I keep trying to make him see that I have no choice, I’ve got to do these things … and he’s got to understand that I haven’t got the money available for, like, two of them … I feel like I’m being cheated as a grandmother. I really don’t feel like I’ve got the opportunity to enjoy two grandsons like what other people have got.’ (Shelia, grandmother) The struggles identified in Shelia’s account are brought more sharply into focus when using Morgan’s (2011) theory of

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‘family practices’ as her frustration rests on her inability to be ‘doing’ the same grandmothering practices with both grandsons. These competing priorities left Shelia feeling guilty and angry over the injustice of her positionality. In a slightly different way, Lucy felt unable to engage in her usual grandmothering practices because she felt too drained. The emotional impact of losing her daughter to prison, alongside the uptake of care for her three-​year-​old granddaughter, hindered her ability to visit her son’s daughter, who was born just before her daughter went into prison: ‘I’ve not seen much of her, my new granddaughter … I’ve not been [to see her], I just feel so miserable all the time and I’ll say to my son “I’ve not seen the baby” and he’ll say “Well Mum, you’ve got a car and you can come and see her” but I just feel so tired and drained all the time.’ (Lucy, grandmother) These findings have policy implications as, to date, existing literature has not fully realised that there is a whole other population of children who may be suffering at the hands of the ‘justice’ system and serving a ‘family sentence’. Statistics estimate that over 17,000 children could be affected by maternal imprisonment a year in England and Wales (Crest Advisory, 2019); however, this figure only includes the mothers’ own children. Likewise, estimated numbers of prisoners’ children internationally, which stand in the millions across Europe (Noffke, 2017), may also neglect to include the other doubly invisible children in the family, making both estimates too conservative in light of the new insights gained here. Family constructions: fathers and paternal kin So far, this chapter has shown how families worked collectively to support one another with childcare responsibilities and

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finances following the mothers’ departure to prison, alongside the strain and disruptions that this caused within family dynamics. Owing to the structure of caregiving arrangements, much of these discussions has focused on the lives and experiences of maternal kin as only a minority of children (in three families) were living with their (step)fathers during their mother’s imprisonment. The intention of this chapter was to develop a greater understanding of family constructions and caregiving arrangements within families; accordingly, this final section examines caregivers’ understandings of the role and activities assumed by the children’s fathers. Fathering roles and practices

The evidence has already shown how caregiving practices during maternal imprisonment are complex, varied and extend beyond the household, with several members participating and working collectively to look after the children. Consequently, it is important that the smaller representation of fathers as participants is not seen as indicative of their absence in the children’s lives. Instead, the presence and practices assumed by the children’s fathers are explored here to better understand the nature and scope of fathering practices during maternal imprisonment. Social changes, such as the separation of sex from marriage and an increase in cohabitation, stepparent and blended families (Williams, 2004), have revised our understanding of what fatherhood can mean as in addition to blood ties, connectedness can occur through re-​p artnering. Correspondingly, definitions of fathering included children’s biological and social fathers (also known as stepfathers) during the interviews. Twenty-​five men fathered the 30 children under 18 years: 21 as biological fathers and four as social fathers. However, these two categories are not mutually exclusive as some children had both biological fathers

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Table 3.2: Fathering practices Active

Irregular

In prison

Absent

Biological

6

8

4

3

Social

4

–​

–​

–​

Total

10

8

4

3

Source: Author’s own research.

and non-​biological fathers in their lives, including two of the (step)father-​caregivers: Daniel and Kevin (see Chapter Two). The caregivers’ accounts indicated that fathering practices were diverse and varied in form and frequency. Reflecting this, four different types of fathering were identified to broadly characterise the different relationships that caregivers characterised through descriptions of their family lives and practices (see Table 3.2). Ten fathers (biological and social) were actively involved in fathering practices, seeing the children and assuming childcare responsibilities within and around the home at least weekly. Most other fathers were less involved, engaging with their children irregularly, whether from the community or prison, while others were absent. The ensuing sections examine each of these groups in more detail. Active fathering

Nine of the 30 children aged under 18 years old and in the care of the families who participated in this study had contact with their biological fathers more than once a week, including four children of father-​caregivers interviewed: Pita, Daniel and Kevin. An additional five children had frequent contact with their biological fathers, who would perform regular practices such as the school run and bedtime routines. Generally, these fathers had been undertaking these same practices before the mothers’ imprisonments. Grandparents Malcolm and Martha

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spoke appreciatively of the care that their grandson’s father provided: Martha: ‘His dad has always come up every day, straight after work he’s there, all weekend he’s there with our grandson, his dad’s absolutely brilliant….’ Malcolm: ‘And he pays [us] board every week.’ Martha: ‘Yeah, he pays maintenance, doesn’t he?’ Malcolm: ‘He’s there every night, he’ll bath him and make his dinner, put him to sleep at night, help him, you know, and he doesn’t go until … his dad won’t go home until he’s gone to sleep.’ (Martha and Malcolm, grandparents) Tasks were also undertaken by the children’s stepfathers, looking after the children on the weekends (Derek and Madeline) and taking the children to visit their mother in prison (Annette). As there has been little qualitative research with father-​caregivers, fathers and male relatives of prisoners (Codd, 2008; Flynn, 2011), it is interesting to observe how all but one of the biological and non-​biological fathers who were actively involved in the children’s lives were also involved in a romantic relationship (as a partner or spouse) with the mother in prison. Only the biological father of Kevin’s three stepchildren remained actively involved in a ‘co-​parenting’ arrangement while not being in a romantic relationship with the mother. These findings suggest that fathers may be more likely to perform an active caregiving role during the mother’s sentence when in an intimate relationship with the mother, or when they had already been actively involved in caregiving before the conviction. Irregular fathering

Those caregivers who reported that children in their care had irregular contact with the children’s fathers also described

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receiving little consistent practice or financial support with childcare. The eight children with this relationship tended to meet with their fathers every few months, though the length, timing and quality of this contact varied, and was often dictated by the fathers. For instance, Derek and Madeline’s eldest granddaughter spent a weekend in Ireland with her biological father every three or four months but this was dependent upon it being ‘convenient’ for her father. Many caregivers expressed frustration at having to manage relationships with fathers when they did not demonstrate a commitment to having a consistent, meaningful relationship with the children, though they also ascribed considerable meaning to the fathers’ potential role in the children’s family. This meant that they were still willing to facilitate father–​child contact if and when arranged. Illustrating these mixed feelings, Annette describes how her grandson’s father is ‘part of his family’ despite him being absent for weeks at a time: ‘He has just walked out of his life a couple of times, like for three months, he did not show up … I said to [his dad] “He wants to see you because you are part of his family” … but it took his Dad another six weeks to come so, yeah, he’s messing about with his little head.’ (Annette, grandmother) Although some weight was given to the father’s legal and biological connection to the children, their understanding of his status focused on the ‘doing’ of fathering practices (Morgan, 2011). Terry and Jasmine explained how they would always facilitate contact between their grandson and his father but also felt frustrated about the way in which this usually occurred, with his father turning up unannounced and demanding time without prior arrangement: ‘If his father did make an effort and attempt to come and see him more, I mean, we don’t like him, but at the end

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of the day, we’d put up with him. I mean, we’ve been stuck in a difficult situation because we tried to appease him and, you know, we’re not going to stop him seeing his son, all we ask is that he asks us if he’s available at such-​and-​such a time because he could just turn up here, he could turn up now and take him.’ (Terry, grandfather) Some of the fears that Terry and Jasmine felt about their grandson’s father were related to his parental rights as the biological father. By comparison, their guardianship had not been formally recognised and so they felt obliged to facilitate father–​child contact in case his father challenged them and tried to assume full-​time care in the mother’s absence (for a discussion of issues with legal guardianship, see Chapter Six). These fears were shared in two other families where maternal grandparents had become the caregivers when the mother had been the primary (or sole) caregiver to her children before prison but still shared parental responsibility with the children’s father. The father of Janice’s youngest grandson had threatened to resume care for him and move back to his family in the Caribbean after initially refusing to continue looking after the children in England: Lorraine: ‘His dad’s even threatened to take the little one to the Caribbean with him….’ Janice: ‘That would break my daughter … she wants them [the children] with me … I’m just trying to keep him happy … we offered to get a bigger house and him come to live with us so he could see the children every day; he didn’t want it. We’re trying to keep it sweet, keep everyone calm.’ (Janice, grandmother; Lorraine, friend) Father–​child relationships could require delicate balancing and carefully considered responses by kin caregivers. This was to make sure that everyone’s needs were being met while ensuring

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that the informal care of the children remained with maternal grandparents following their own wishes, as well as the mother’s and children’s. These new insights show how beyond assuming care for the children, caregiving responsibilities also include the management of a myriad of interpersonal and familial relationships for primary kin caregivers. The additional stress that this brought to caregiving kin should not be overlooked or underappreciated as, for many, it created more uncertainty and concern about the impact that the mother’s absence could bring to the children and family. Absent fathers

In some families, there was no need to balance or manage relationships and contact with the father because of his continued absence, either from birth or for several years. Out of the 30 children under 18 years of age, seven did not have any contact with their fathers. In these families, when the mother went to prison, nothing changed by way of their relationships or contact with their fathers. When asked about her grandson’s father, Shelia explained how there had been “no change there … [my grandson] was three months old, [that] was the last time we seen him, he’s never been around; [my grandson] doesn’t even know who he is” (Shelia, grandmother). Fathers in prison

Across four families, six children were separated from both their mother and father at the time of the interview. Caregivers explained how all these fathers had received a custodial sentence either at the same time as the mother or for a related offence. In all of these families, the mothers wanted their children to continue having a relationship with their fathers, perhaps because they were also in a romantic relationship with these men during their sentence. Thus, the

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onus fell to family members to maintain contact with both imprisoned parents. Shannon was the only grandmother-​ caregiver not to facilitate contact with the imprisoned father of her youngest grandson. She explained that she had never met him and that she had no inclination to do so, especially given that he had not requested contact with his son: “It’s her jailbird husb-​boyfriend, which I’ve never met, he’s the baby’s father. His dad’s a total idiot; he’s not even wanted any contact” (Shannon, grandmother). Three grandparent-​ caregivers facilitated father–​child contact during the father’s sentence, either on the telephone or, on occasion, by taking the children to the father’s prison. Lucy felt obliged to maintain this relationship as she feared losing her family if she did not follow her daughter’s wishes, even though she blamed the father for her daughter’s conviction: “It’s all his fault but I’ve got to ‘cause my daughter loves him to death and if I fall out with him, then, well, I don’t want to lose my daughter and my grandchildren so I’m just torn all the time” (Lucy, grandmother). Research suggests that women go to prison for offences undertaken alongside or under coercion from other people, especially romantic partners (Light et al, 2013). Ava and Sandra also believed that the mother received a custodial sentence because of her partner’s actions and advice. She had pleaded guilty because she was led to believe that a custodial sentence would not be issued: Ava:

Sandra: Ava:

‘Her partner had said “No, this is your first offence and you’ve never been in trouble before, you’ve got the two girls, nothing’s going to happen” and then in the court[room], the judge turned around and said “Ten months. ‘Bang.’ Take her down.” ’ ‘She took the blame for him.’ ‘Yeah, she did, she basically took the blame … but I try and get them in [to prison] to see their dad.’ (Ava, grandmother; Sandra, great-​grandmother)

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In spite of their own impression of the children’s fathers, these grandmothers facilitated father–​child contact in order to follow the wishes of the mother. As later chapters reveal, this may be owing to the close relationships that many of the caregivers had with the mother and their willingness to mitigate some of the harms of the imprisonment on their families. Again, it is clear that the intimate relationship between the mother and father was an indicator of the father’s continued involvement in the children’s lives. Paternal kin

In addition to receiving support from maternal kin, (step) father-​caregivers were more likely to discuss the support also received from their birth family. When the children’s father was actively involved, so were the paternal relatives, especially the paternal grandparents. When father–​child relationships were irregular or the father was also in prison, caregivers were more likely to describe contact with paternal kin as intermittent and challenging. Unlike the collective caregiving practices described with members of their immediate family, the maternal primary kin caregivers spoke largely of the challenges of managing relationships and contact with paternal kin in these family constructions. Significantly, this sheds light on the relatives more likely to ‘rally around’ (Codd, 2008) when a mother is imprisoned. Already in this chapter, Ava and Sandra were seen to blame the children’s father for the mother’s imprisonment, and their accounts show that they were similarly frustrated by the paternal grandparents for not supporting them with childcare: Ava:

‘I was basically told by the [paternal] grandmother that she can’t afford to stop working and, you know, that she’ll take the girls in the afternoons when she’s not working [and] it started off with on the first few days when she

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Sandra:

[paternal grandmother] wasn’t working, she did, she took them for a couple of hours at least, but I would say in the last four or five weeks, she has only had the eldest overnight twice and the youngest once … so it’s basically been that we’ve got them 24/​7 and not what she said….’ ‘It’s really not fair; we get no help from them other grandparents at all.’ (Ava, grandmother; Sandra, great-​grandmother)

In a different way, Annette did not expect or ask for practical help from the paternal grandparents; instead, she had approached them to request assistance with their son because she was having trouble contacting her grandson’s father who had missed his birthday: ‘I went, actually went, to his parents and said “Look, I am only asking, I am not asking for any money, I’m not asking for any clothes.” I said “Just once a week to see his dad” … he didn’t get a birthday present from his daddy so and when I went up there, his grandma had a present for him but not from [his dad] … how are you going to explain to a five, well six, year old? Well, that’s it now, we’re done.’ (Annette, grandmother) Since this event, Annette has been less inclined to engage with her grandson’s father and paternal relatives. Morgan’s (1999) concept of ‘family practices’ may help us understand why Annette is feeling particularly distressed by the lack of a birthday present. By viewing family life as a set of practices, premised on the ‘doing’ of activities, a father is understood to be such not only because of a biological connection, but by his actions and involvement. Thus, from Annette’s perspective, the father’s failure to provide a gift signifies that he is not ‘doing’ what a father ought to; likewise, his parents are not ‘doing’ sufficient to encourage the father–​child relationship.

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Summary This first empirical chapter provides a better understanding of the nature and scope of caregiving practices within families and sheds light on the ways in which families can be constructed during maternal imprisonment. This was possible owing to the theoretical framework provided by Morgan’s (1999) concept of ‘family practices’, which views family life as dynamic and fluid. From this frame of reference, explorations of family life are not restricted to households or prescribed definitions, which meant that the caregivers’ accounts, dynamics and relationships held significance. A key finding from the analysis of both the joint interviews and the caregivers’ accounts was that collective caregiving practices were observed in all families which showed that childcare and familial responsibilities were shared by several individuals within and across familial and social networks. While highly valued and appreciated by primary kin caregivers, the nature and extent of the collective response also brought about a collective strain. This finding has significance by showing the far-​reaching ‘family sentence’ served within kinship networks. Many of the female, maternal kin who were primary kin caregivers already had child-​rearing responsibilities for other children, including their own children and other grandchildren. The findings highlighted how these other groups of children were adversely impacted by a mother going into prison. Arguably, these children are ‘doubly invisible’ as they have previously been absent in commentaries about children affected by maternal imprisonment. Informing policy and practice, this means that estimated figures are woefully inaccurate as substantially more than 17,000 children a year experience significant disruptions in their lives following maternal imprisonment in England and Wales. Failure to acknowledge this group of dependants severely underappreciates the widespread impact of maternal imprisonment on children and maintains their ‘invisible’ status.

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Finally, by bringing to light caregivers’ descriptions of their family lives, this chapter also drew attention to the role and positionality of children’s fathers, both biological and social. The smaller representation of (step)fathers in the study’s sample was not seen as indicative of their absence in their children’s lives. Via the caregivers’ accounts, it was clear that actively involved fathers and stepfathers were more likely to be in a romantic relationship with the mother in prison or actively involved in parenting before her imprisonment. Significantly, this could explain why grandparents and female relatives are generally caring for children whose mothers are in prison. Above all, this chapter shows how the punishment that accompanies a mother’s imprisonment is shared not only with her own children, but also several other relatives, friends, fathers and children, who are, to varying degrees, certainly serving the ‘family sentence’. Building on this, Chapter Four explores further the way in which caregiving kin responded to their familial circumstances in the aftermath of the mother’s imprisonment. Note 1

2

The brackets are used to show how the men being discussed are both stepfathers and biological fathers to the children in their care. Referring to them only as ‘stepfather’ or ‘father’ would not accurately represent their relationship to the mothers’ children. This bracketing is used throughout the book. The interviewer and author.

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FOUR Renegotiating family life: caregiving in the aftermath of the mother’s imprisonment

Introduction This chapter reveals how caregivers responded to the mother’s imprisonment both in the short and long term. The focus is directed more towards the primary kin caregivers1 as the ones assuming the bulk of the childcare responsibilities. The literature provides some insights into the disruption that looking after the children can have for caregivers (Hairston, 2009; Raikes, 2016) but this chapter takes a chronological examination to help better understand the process of assuming care. While doing so, it is important to remember that in 14 families, an added layer of uncertainty and confusion occurred because it was their first time navigating maternal imprisonment. Renegotiations at three stages are examined: • Caregivers’ reactions to the news of the imprisonment and especially how the mother’s sentence was unexpected. Caregivers

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felt bereaved through the sudden loss and separation from the mother. • The initial response to the mother’s imprisonment:  why and how? Details of the various changes and tasks that were undertaken in the initial weeks of the sentence and in the context of having made few caregiving preparations are examined. • The longer-​term renegotiations, focusing on the diverse and complex adjustments made to their roles, identities, practices, work commitments and finances in order to provide care to the children on a more permanent basis. News of the imprisonment Research suggests that mothers (Masson, 2019) and caregivers looking after female prisoners’ children (Boswell and Wood, 2011) had not anticipated the outcome of a prison sentence. Similarly, the mother’s imprisonment was not expected in 11 families in this study. This meant that the news of the prison sentence came as a shock, which had serious implications for their ability to prepare and respond to their new caretaking responsibilities. This section explores why the custodial sentence was unexpected and the caregivers’ thoughts and feelings about the initial period of separation from the mother. The unexpected sentence: guilty

All the caregivers knew about the mother’s court hearing before it took place but most reported that they had not expected the mother to actually receive a custodial sentence (see Chapter Four). This was often because caregivers believed that the mother was innocent. Pita explains how a guilty verdict had not been considered because he and his wife had trusted that she would be found not guilty: “We were not stressing about it because we have done nothing wrong and so why would

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we worry about it if you believe in the justice system of the UK … I  firmly believe that she did nothing wrong” (Pita, father). Several of the caregivers believed that the charges brought against the mother were inaccurate. Lucy was particularly distressed by her daughter’s imprisonment as she was adamant that she had not committed an offence: “It just feels, just feels so sad, every little part of my body feels sad because, you know, she shouldn’t be there, she shouldn’t be there. She didn’t do anything wrong” (Lucy, grandmother). In four of the families, the mothers were appealing their sentence at the time of interview. Terry explained how the ‘gasp’ in the courtroom when the judge revealed the initial 12-​year sentence indicated its severity, which was confirmed with her successful appeal and reduction in sentence: ‘When they sentenced her, it was a hell of gasp … it was a case of, in a [criminal] case like that, it was never expected … her barrister said “Well, I’m looking at an appeal on this” because … I think she had worked out that that was a very harsh sentence.’ (Terry, grandfather) The other mothers appealing their sentences were awaiting a court hearing or decision regarding their application. Caregivers in these families were hopeful that the appeal would reduce or quash the sentence, and were supporting the mother and legal team with this. Importantly, in engaging with the formal appeal process, these families were further signalling their resolution that the conviction was wrongful. The unexpected sentence: seriousness and mitigation

Caregivers who had acknowledged the possibility of a conviction still reported feeling surprised when a custodial sentence was given. For Malcolm and Martha, this was because they had anticipated a suspended sentence given that it was their daughter’s first offence:

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Malcolm: ‘I mean, I know it carries a two-​year sentence, does dangerous driving, but there is mitigating circumstances.’ Martha: ‘I thought that was very harsh, especially being that it were for first time because she’s never been charged with anything before, ever, and we really thought she may get a suspended sentence.’ (Martha and Malcolm, grandparents) Other caregivers were shocked because they thought that the charges brought against the mother would not be serious enough to warrant imprisonment. Often, they had envisaged a caution or community sanction. This perspective was sometimes bolstered by legal professionals who, as with previous research (Masson, 2019), had advised the family that a custodial sentence was highly unlikely. As Ava recalls, the solicitors involved in her daughter’s trial had suggested that there was only a small chance that she would face prison: “Everybody was shell-​shocked, really, really shell-​shocked … it was totally unexpected because … she had basically been assured that she wouldn’t be going to jail … her lawyers had said to her that there was a ‘99 per cent chance that you won’t go to prison’ ” (Ava, grandmother). Ava’s daughter received a ten-​month sentence, which meant that she was likely to spend five months in prison away from her two children under three years of age. In the months before her sentence, she had separated from her partner –​the children’s father –​becoming the sole caregiver to the infants, and had been (wrongly) advised that her maternal status would mitigate a custodial sentence. Likewise, Kristen and Lucy reveal how the mother in their family was not represented by her solicitor at court as he had been sure that prison was unlikely given the circumstances surrounding her ‘crime’. She was also the primary caregiver of two young children, aged 11 months and three years:

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Renegotiating family life

Kristen: ‘The solicitor didn’t even go [to court] … because he said “She’s not going to get a sentence; first offence, under two years, non-​ violent, no risk”….’ Lucy: ‘But, I  mean, she was quite prepared for … a caution … community ser vice or something but….’ Kristen: ‘Yeah, but prison were a total shock, and like I  say, everybody’s world’s just upside down.’ (Kristin, cousin; Lucy, grandmother) Section 166(1) of the Criminal Justice Act 2003 has provisions for sentencers to account for matters of personal mitigation (Epstein, 2012), which includes the defendant’s status as ‘sole or primary carer of dependent relatives’ (see Chapter One). Yet, the two examples just given detail how mothers were separated from their young dependent children for first, non-​violent offences, and for short sentences that saw them imprisoned for less than 12 months. Both of their legal representatives had considered their primary caregiving status to have grounds for mitigation, though this was not applied by the judiciary. These findings align with two previous studies that reported a wide variation and underuse of balance, discretion and mitigation with defendants who were mothers in England and Wales (Epstein, 2012; PRT, 2015). These inconsistent and inappropriate sentencing practices can be damaging not only for mothers and children (Baldwin and Epstein, 2017), but also for the families who were left feeling bewildered and distressed at the sudden and significant disruption that this caused in their lives. Feeling bereaved

Family members experienced deep shock and sadness as they attempted to come to terms with the news that the mother had been imprisoned. Two reasons for this were identified:  first, the sentence was unexpected; and, second, the

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primary kin caregivers had close relationships with the mother prior to her imprisonment. For instance, the mother was either the father-​caregiver’s partner (wife or girlfriend), the daughter of the grandparent-​caregivers or close friends. There is growing evidence detailing how the separation is painful for mothers (Baldwin, 2015; Masson, 2019) and children (Gordon, 2018; Minson, 2018a) but the new findings from this study show how the imprisonment was also emotionally distressing for the caregivers. As Lucy explains, learning about her daughter’s sentence was exceptionally traumatic: “At the end of the day, she’s my baby girl … she always used to be down here every day, you know, and I feel like I’ve lost my right arm to be honest, she were my best friend, lovely girl … it’s been shocking, really shocking, absolutely horrendous” (Lucy, grandmother). Similarly, Claudia had struggled to process information and manage social interactions for a considerable time following her daughter’s remand into prison2: “I think I was in, just, shock, I just, I wasn’t taking anything in when everybody was talking to me for a long time … everything was just in turmoil all the time, everything was like … it was quite awful really” (Claudia, grandmother). Grief was found in the accounts of grandparents raising their children’s children in other informal kinship arrangements (Selwyn et al, 2013). Likewise, and in an attempt to articulate their emotional experience, caregivers revealed how mothers’ imprisonment was akin to bereavement as the acute loss that followed their sudden absence mirrored feelings of a death in the family: ‘I was stunned … it’s like as if someone dies, you’ve just got to get on with it, you’ve got to get through it, it is hard and, I  mean, the first weeks were rock bottom, I mean, I was rock bottom … the first weeks are hard.’ (Daniel, [step]father)

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‘I mean, I couldn’t stop crying for the first week, it was absolutely horrendous … it felt like it were a death, like there was a death, you were grieving.’ (Janice, grandmother) Bockneck and colleagues (2009) explain how the ambiguity of the loss surrounding parental imprisonment inhibits children’s ability to understand the organisation and functioning of their family. This study draws on the theory of ‘ambiguous loss’ (Boss, 2016), which highlights the challenges facing children separated under precarious situations, in this case, being physically separated from their parents while they remain psychologically present. Likewise, caregivers in this study were also struggling to come to terms with their changed family circumstances:  being separated from the mother and charged with the responsibility of looking after her children. However, there is still very little social recognition of the effects of imprisonment on loved ones, for instance, this loss is not afforded the same social verification through appropriate leave policies in work as, by comparison, death, birth or adoption. As such, this grief is, at best, hidden and, at worst, ignored by society. Either way, it is damaging as it contributes to the ‘disenfranchised’ status that caregivers occupy during this very emotional and difficult time. The initial response to the mother’s imprisonment: why and how? Primary kin caregivers had to respond quickly to their new family circumstances in the initial days and weeks following the mother’s removal into prison. Specifically, caregivers were asked to reflect on the reason why they assumed care for the children, and how this took place in the context of their families.

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Why care?

Relatives were adamant that the children should be looked after within the family as it was the ‘best’ thing to do. A more nuanced understanding of this response can be gained by drawing on Finch and Mason’s (1993) understanding of ‘family obligations’ as it is likely that the positive nature and quality of the past mother-​caregiver relationships may have influenced this decision for reasons of reciprocity and kinship (Turanovic et al, 2012). In all the families, the caregivers described having a close relationship with the mother in prison, either as parent, partner or close friend. Along with the children’s needs, this meant that relatives felt that it was their moral and familial responsibility to assume care: “It’s the best thing for him. He’s a small child, it’s hard … but it’s just like we’re trying our best, we’re doing our best” (Annette, grandmother). Supporting previous research (Mackintosh et al, 2006; Masson, 2019), this study found that the decision to assume care for the children was seen as a better option than the children being taken into social care: ‘There was no way they were going to go into care; the kids have been through a lot … it has been stressful with Mum gone but … I’d rather them be with me than be in the system … when there’s three [siblings], they’d have got split up, you don’t know where they would have ended up or what would have happened to them.’ (Shannon, grandmother) ‘There’s no way they’d have gone into care.’ (Madeline, grandmother) Research indicates that around 14 per cent of children are taken into social care when their mothers are imprisoned (Caddle and Crisp, 1997). Little is known about the experiences and lives of persons involved in these caregiving

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arrangements. However, it was clear that the caregivers in this study wanted the children to remain with the family and went to great lengths to work collectively to enable this (see Chapter Three). Another reason that caregivers assumed care was to enable them to continue facilitating mother–​child contact, which they felt was necessary to try to mitigate some of the adverse effects of the mother’s absence: “Yes, they’re going to have sad days, yes they’re going to be upset and yes they’re going to miss mum but I take the journey up [to the prison] every weekend and if the kids wanted more, then I would do it for them, but they’re doing ok” (Kevin, [step]father). The caregivers supported mother–​child contact to keep the family together (Denby, 2012), and when they had a vested interest in the mother’s continued participation in mothering practices during, and after, prison (Tasca, 2016). Chapter Five shows the lengths to which the caregivers went in order to sustain mother–​child contact for the sake of both parties, and so it follows that care for children is linked to maintaining these family ties. However, the process of assuming care was not straightforward, whether or not caregiving preparations were in place ahead of the conviction. Caregiving preparations when children already lived with the caregiver

The findings show the significant domestic reorganisations that occurred within families to accommodate the children. A key difference between maternal and paternal imprisonment is that in the latter, most children (90 per cent) remain in the care of their mothers (Dodd and Hunter, 1992) and do not need to change residence or caregivers (Friestad, 2016). Chapter Three revealed that of the 30 children in this study, only 12 remained in their own homes. Remarkably, only one caregiver living with the children before the mother’s conviction considered himself prepared for his partner’s prison sentence. Kevin explained that this was because his partner (the mother)

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had discussed the ‘worst-​case scenario’ with several members of the family before the court case: ‘[Their] mum is very methodical, she’s like “Just in case the worst-​case scenario does happen, we need to have a plan”, so, obviously, her side of the family, the children’s dad and me sat down in the front room and discussed, you know, what is best for the children if the worst-​case scenario does happen?’ (Kevin, [step]father) However, there is some contradiction in Kevin’s narrative later in the interview as he reveals the shock and challenge of being a single father: “It was a bit of a shock … you never in life think that you’re going to be a single parent, dad, on your own” (Kevin, [step]father). This second comment indicates that despite their arrangements, Kevin later felt unprepared for the actuality of parenting alone. Put another way, the reality of the situation was harder than expected in spite of the preparations put in place. Similarly, other caregivers who were living with the children before the conviction seemed to have a limited grasp of how the mother’s absence would impact their daily lives. Annette explained that she and her husband had been raising their six-​year-​old grandson for several years following social welfare involvement. However, when their daughter was imprisoned, their caregiving role changed as he could no longer stay with his mum on a weekend:  “It’s not easy. Before, at the weekends, he were always at his mum’s and we haven’t any time for us and we’ve not had a day to ourselves in six months, not since she’s been locked up … we haven’t got a social life anymore because his mum’s missing” (Annette, grandmother). Family practices (Morgan, 2011) can include both active practices and an absence of practices. For Annette, the changes identified since her daughter went to prison relate to the latter, specifically, the absence of caregiving practices that had previously been assumed by her daughter, and the respite provided by this.

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Caregiving preparations when children moved into caregivers’ homes after arrest

Caregivers who took care of children following the mother’s arrest had less time to grasp what caretaking would mean for them. Miriam received an unexpected phone call from social services asking her to collect her youngest granddaughter from the police station and her two older granddaughters from nursery following her daughter’s arrest. After a short assessment from social services, she became responsible for all three grandchildren that very same day: “[It was] more or less straight away, I mean the eldest two were at nursery, they went to nursery one day and they just never went home again, they came to me. It all just happened overnight” (Miriam, grandmother). Another way that the mother’s arrest prompted domestic rearrangements in families was when the mother and children moved into the grandparents’ homes ahead of the court case. Grandparent-​caregivers from two families explain how their daughter hoped that moving into their home ahead of the court case might settle the grandchildren in case of prison. In both families, the sentence length received was much more severe than they had anticipated: ‘I think she had planned in case what might happen so she wanted the closest knit that she could get … I think she was looking at the worst but I don’t think she was looking at as bad as she got, but she was looking at the worst scenario and planned for it.’ (Terry, grandfather) ‘She was arrested and she came to live here … we didn’t think she would [go to prison], but in the end, we were preparing ourselves and I was shocked at the length of the sentence.’ (Madeline, grandmother) Again, it is clear that despite some preparations being put into place, the expectations of the sentence and the lived reality

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of the mother going into prison were not matched for these grandparent-​caregivers. Caregiving preparations when children moved into caregivers’ homes after imprisonment

For caregivers of 13 children, the caregiver’s childcare responsibilities began when the mother was taken into custody straight from court. At this point, several of the grandparent primary kin caregivers collected their grandchildren from school or nursery, and began looking after the children immediately. Very few preparations had been made in these families. For instance, Janice had to collect vital items for the baby (for example, a highchair, changing mat and cot) from her daughter’s house to enable her to care for her ten-​month-​old grandson. Shannon took her school-​aged grandchildren to their home with suitcases to fill with clothes before they moved in with her, describing how doing this had been extremely upsetting for them all: ‘My granddaughter, it really, really affected her, and my grandson were a shock, in fact, heartbroken … but we were like, “Right, let’s go to the house and get clothes” and … we’d taken suitcases with us and then they had another breakdown when we were at the house and that were really hard that, to have to do that.’ (Shannon, grandmother) The overall impression was that when the mothers were unexpectedly arrested or imprisoned, the caregivers had little or no opportunity to prepare. However, even in those families where some preparations had been made following arrest or ahead of the court case, the extent of the changes that followed in the caregivers’ daily lives had not been fully realised. This made the initial separation particularly stressful for families and shows the challenges of assuming immediate and full-​time care under

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these circumstances. It also points towards a need for improved information sharing ahead of the mother’s imprisonment to better prepare families (see Loucks, 2005) –​especially primary kin caregivers –​for the practical readjustments that will likely surround their caregiving position. Moving households

Having made few preparations ahead of the court case, caregivers had to consider how they would take care of the children and where they would live. Eighteen children had changed residence following their mother’s arrest or imprisonment (see Chapter Two). In all these families, the caregivers decided to move the children into their homes, which meant that they had to organise space and sleeping arrangements. Housing arrangements have frequently been identified as a precarious area for women who go to prison (Masson, 2019) as, in many cases, continuing tenancies from prison is both practically and financially problematic. Later in this chapter, the findings indicate how a small number of families supported the mothers to keep their tenancies, though this was not generally economically viable, which necessitated the children’s house move. In some families, grandparents had a spare bedroom with which the children were familiar because they had stayed overnight in the past: “They were used to us; they were used to staying here” (Madeline, grandmother); “I already had a bedroom anyway for them because they used to come and stay with me every week, well Friday to Saturday teatime, I’ve always had, like, that, I  was lucky I  suppose” (Janice, grandmother). When the grandparent-​caregivers had been actively involved in the children’s lives prior to their mother’s imprisonment, they reported having provisions in their home to accommodate the children. These grandparents considered how this familiarity helped the children settle, and eased some of the distress of moving out of their own homes. However, the transition from having the children stay

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overnight to having them stay for a longer period of time created practical challenges. As Ava explains, she had been having her granddaughters to stay overnight several times a week leading up to their parents’ imprisonment but having them full time was different: “In the two months before they were sort of sentenced, I mean, it was like every couple of days we were having the girls overnight … but they do both sleep in my room so [when it’s] every night, it is very difficult” (Ava, grandmother). In a similar way, when Miriam’s three granddaughters came to live with her after their mother’s arrest, they thought that this was a temporary arrangement. As with many of the other caregivers, Miriam did not think her daughter was guilty and assumed that the children would move back in with their mother after her acquittal. Following her imprisonment, Miriam acknowledged that she needed to rethink their housing situation for spatial reasons: ‘The house is a lot busier than it used to be and I haven’t got a very big house, I only have a two-​bedroomed house, which means that it’s a bit of a squeeze for us now … at the moment, the two older girls are in one room, but the baby is in our room and she’s not quite ready for a bed, but we’re going to have to sort of rethink what we’re going to do.’ (Miriam, grandmother) Shannon felt fortunate enough to have a three-​bedroomed house, and so her eldest grandson could have his own room while the younger two shared a room, sleeping in bunk beds. She explains how there was just enough room for them to stay but little room for their clothes and belongings: ‘The only thing we don’t have is storage space. The house ain’t got no storage space at all so one grandson’s still in suitcases and my granddaughter’s in boxes under the bed, and the bed that my eldest grandson has got has draws in it so I’ve emptied all my winter stuff out and put his

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stuff in there for him, you know, but we just manage.’ (Shannon, grandmother) In the families where the children moved homes, it was evident that spatial issues were an area of concern for caregivers, especially over time and as the children were growing up. Chapter Six reveals that there was ambiguity surrounding the mothers’ release dates and, in some instances, the mothers’ plans to resume care for the children. Although caregivers knew that this care was temporary, there was often uncertainty about the actual duration. Also, where the mothers received lengthier sentences, caregivers had to consider whether they would cope long term, with one grandmother, Janice, deciding to find a larger house to accommodate her grandchildren during their mother’s 12-​year sentence. Although the addition of a new child through birth or adoption might attract support with housing from local authorities, this was not extended to the primary kin caregivers of female prisoners’ children. Such failures contribute to the vulnerable social position that caregivers occupy, and indicate how the nature of their caregiving is under-​supported, ill-​acknowledged and ‘disenfranchised’. Telling the children

Primary kin caregivers revealed that a prominent and painful aspect of assuming care for children was explaining their mother’s absence. Literature and advice from the third sector often suggest telling the children the true whereabouts of the mother at the earliest opportunity (for example, PACT, no date). Yet, because the mother’s imprisonment was not expected in many families, they had not had the opportunity to prepare children in this way. Caregivers described how, on their return from the mothers’ court hearings, informing the children had been a daunting and emotional task:

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‘I had to go home and explain to my granddaughter, you know, her mum’s not coming, her mum’s not coming back and it was absolutely horrendous, awful.’ (Janice, grandmother) ‘I had to tell the kids what had happened … I held back from crying and then when I said [it], they all started crying, blubbering, and then I started … it were just the shock of the day.’ (Daniel, father) Caregivers found this experience more challenging because they also had to decide what to tell the children. Shelia reveals how she told her six-​year-​old grandson the truth because his mother had received a longer sentence of six years. Although his mother had told him that she was ‘working away’, Shelia did not want to lie to him for such an extended amount of time: ‘Everything came to a bit of a shock for him at the end because she didn’t sit him down or warn him or anything, it was basically on the Friday when she went to the court to be sentenced, she said to him “I might have to work away for a few months but I’ll phone you” … but then, obviously, with the [prison] time she got and that, we’ve sat him down and he knows all what’s gone on … she should have told him what was going on … he had no way to prepare that mummy might be going away in the future.’ (Shelia, grandmother) Other grandparents, Martha and Malcolm, also told their five-​year-​old grandson the truth. They felt that it was the best course of action given their trusting relationship: ‘We told him the truth right away, we said that his mum had been sent to prison because she’d been naughty, you know, we couldn’t lie to him … although it might hurt

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at the time and upset him, at least no one’s lied to him. He trusts us, and to have his trust, I would never then abuse it.’ (Malcolm, grandfather) By comparison, some caregivers of younger children preferred not to tell the children about their mother’s true whereabouts as they believed that they were not old enough to fully understand: ‘We said they’d gone on a summer holiday because, at the time, it was the summer and lots of people were going away and we kind of thought that would fit. She doesn’t understand the concept of how long that has to be.’ (Rebecca, grandmother) Jasmine: ‘In our family, I’ve said that nobody’s to tell him what’s happening. She’s in work and that’s it.’ Terry: ‘Our grandson’s not that old to be aware so we’ve said [to his mum] that “It’s up to you, if you tell him.” ’ (Jasmine and Terry, grandparents) Jasmine and Terry considered their three-​year-​old grandson to be too young to understand, opting to suggest that his mother was working. They felt that it was their daughter’s responsibility, and choice, to tell him the truth. Another reason for telling younger children that their mother was working was to prevent them from revealing their mother’s imprisonment to people outside the family. Miriam explains how her eldest granddaughter, aged six, is like News of the World and would tell everyone at nursery that her mum was in prison if she knew. Keeping the truth from the children was, in this instance, a means to reduce possible stigma and negative social reactions (see Chapter Six). Taken together, the caregivers had responded to the issue of explaining the mother’s absence in varied ways. Although there are resources available (for example, PACT), none of

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the families seemed aware of these or used them to guide their decisions. Instead, three important factors that shaped the primary kin caregivers’ decisions were the children’s age, the mother’s sentence length and stigma. These findings improve our understanding of how and why children are given different explanations about their mother’s whereabouts, and shed light on this part of the caregiving role, which is under-​ acknowledged in existing studies despite it comprising a significant, and emotional, part of the initial separation period. Longer-​term renegotiations Over time, the nature and scope of the renegotiations that caregivers experienced in their daily lives changed and manifested themselves in different ways. Looking after the children on a more permanent basis caused readjustments in their homes, work lives and social lives, and with regard to sorting out other aspects of the mother’s affairs. Sorting the mother’s affairs

Caregiving kin were charged with responsibility not only for children, but also for other affairs on behalf of the mother. This included her house, finances and property. The management of such affairs from prison is difficult –​with no internet access and limited financial resources to telephone –​which is an added burden for imprisoned mothers (Masson, 2019). The caregivers’ willingness to support the mother with these affairs may be reflective of their close relationship. However, this also resulted in additional burdens as caregivers struggled to run two households, organise welfare claims, end tenancies and remove, or store, household possessions: ‘[I was] trying to think of all the sorts of things that you need to do for her, like find out about “Is the council tax still going to need to be paid? How about her rent

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and housing benefit?” … it was confusing, bewildering, stressful, worrying and just trying to keep things together really, it was, I would be more stressful than anything.’ (Ava, grandmother) In the families where the mother was serving shorter sentences of less than 12 months in prison, the caregivers often wanted to keep her house in order to help her resume care for the children. However, this was expensive. Often, the wider family would contribute and support the primary kin caregivers to enable this. As Chapter Three outlined, this financial support was a key characteristic of collective caregiving practices observed in families: Lucy: Kristen:

Lucy:

‘He’s just managing to pay the rent, my son, so that she’s got a home to come home to; otherwise, she’d have to start from scratch.’ ‘We don’t want, obviously there’s a lot of change already for the kids, and we don’t want their mum to come home and then more uproot and stuff.’ ‘And it’s like all her furniture, that’d have to go in storage and things, so it’s better to keep it.’ (Lucy, grandmother; Kristen, cousin)

The caregivers were more inclined to end housing tenancies when the mother had received a longer sentence. To do this on the mother’s behalf, they needed her permission, often in the form of a letter or a signature. Yet, as Janice explains, trying to sort out her daughter’s property and end her tenancy was a particularly challenging process considering the difficulties in communicating with her in prison: ‘I’m just bashing my head all the time. An example, we’re closing her house up now, we’ve been all last week packing it up and we’re moving her out on Saturday …

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I’ve got to send her all the information, she’s got to write this letter out, sign it, send it to me and I’ve got to scan it over to them … it is a nightmare.’ (Janice, grandmother) As Janice’s account indicates, families would generally communicate with the mother via letters or email-​a-​prisoner 3 in order to get signatures and move forward. Sadly, this was rarely without complications as facilities to communicate with the mother were often inadequate and slow (see Chapter Five). This highlights how prison processes systemically overlook the critical role played by prisoners’ families in supporting their loved one. These issues not only contribute to the disenfranchised social status occupied by caregivers, but also exacerbate the already difficult practices that comprise the ‘family sentence’. Caregiving: adjusted identities and practices

Primary kin caregivers explained how daily interactions with the children changed the role that they occupied in the children’s lives. This was a necessary response to compensate for the mother’s absence at home. It also ties into sociological theories of family life, which view family practices as (re) active and fluid depending on the needs within the given circumstances (Morgan, 1999). However, in ‘doing’ these different practices, the caregivers observed a change in their identity. For example, Ava describes how she changed from being a grandma to being someone with many different identities as a means to offset both parents going to prison: “It has been hard, you know. I mean, it is just totally different, sort of from being a grandma to being a full-​time mummy, daddy, granny and whatever” (Ava, grandmother). Even though some primary kin caregivers (fathers and grandparents) had lived with, and been caring for, the children prior to the mother’s conviction, her removal into prison still brought about significant readjustments because she had previously

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played a principal caregiving role. Pita described how he was attempting to overcome the mother’s absence in his son’s life by ‘doing’ domestic roles and responsibilities that had previously been undertaken by his wife: ‘Well, I  act like a mother for him sometimes … so I  make his breakfast, I  make and get his food ready, I iron his clothes and everything, I dress him, I polish his shoes, I check his diary and look at his free days, and I ask him about his homework … I am his mother, I am his father, I am everything until his mum comes home.’ (Pita, father) Likewise, Daniel explained how the roles and practices that used to be shared or undertaken by his wife had become his sole responsibility: ‘I think it’s harder for me here because my wife used to do a lot more, like, obviously, with the homework, and we shared the driving and now, obviously, I’ve got to do all the driving, like when we were going shopping, but, yeah, obviously, it’s harder because everything has been put onto my shoulders, like paying the bills and making sure the kids are fed and making sure everything’s ok.’ (Daniel, father) Caregivers, and especially female relatives, described how ‘doing’ certain practices and activities were experienced as ‘going back’ because their new caregiving role reminded them of tasks that they had previously engaged in as mothers when raising their own children. For Janice, this involved returning to practices such as doing homework and responding to the physical needs of a baby, though she hints at the challenges of doing this as a grandmother in her 50s: “I am very energetic but I’m 53, I’m Grandma, but, you know, it’s like you’re going back to helping them with the homework, their reading and it’s

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all the baby’s physical needs” (Janice, grandmother). Likewise, Shannon was caring for her three school-​aged grandchildren and so her experience of ‘going back’ involved practices such as ironing the children’s uniforms on weeknights. She considered it to have been a long time since she had done such activities because her own children were now adults: ‘I get started on the tea and, like, I’ve four uniforms to iron everyday ‘cause I wear a uniform for work and ‘cause they have a clean uniform every day, and then it’s, like, showers and, you know, before you know it, it’s, like, 7 o’clock … I’m totally shattered but my baby’s [daughter’s] 27 [years old], so it’s a long time, you know, to go back to doing it.’ (Shannon, grandmother) Kristen also talks about the challenges of ‘going back’ to looking after a baby, getting up in the night and coping with teething issues. She observes how it has been a few years since she had done this with her own children: ‘Just going back to a baby stage is quite hard, a lot harder than I thought, just waking up again in night and seeing to [him], and then you’re having to get up with your own kids in the morning, and what have you, and he were screaming in night, like with his teeth, the kids were waking up and then they were tired the next day … but, yeah, it is hard, going back, because I know my youngest is only five [years old] but it is a big difference.’ (Kristen, cousin) The renegotiations were interpreted by the caregivers as resuming tasks and responsibilities that they had been ‘doing’ previously; they were not new practices, but associated to a previous time when they occupied a different mothering identity and role. The shift in practices identified by several of the caregivers –​and especially in ‘doing’ tasks conceptualised

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as mothering practices –​is likely a reflection of the restricted mothering practices that can be achieved from prison (Enos, 2001; Booth, 2017b). Incarcerated mothers cannot engage in the same, everyday ‘family practices’ that they had performed prior to prison, as explained by Shelia: ‘She don’t have to worry about what he’s having for dinner, she can’t go out and buy it and sort it out, you know, I’ve got to sort out what we’re all having for dinner, one don’t like this, one don’t like that, it’s the everyday life thing … she’s not there is she?’ (Shelia, grandmother) These findings indicate the profound changes that occurred in the caregivers’ identities and domestic lives during the prison sentence, detailing both the nature and far-​reaching scope of the ‘family sentence’. Research has shown the negative implications of imprisonment on maternal identities and mother–​child relationships several years following the mother’s imprisonment (Baldwin and Epstein, 2017; Masson, 2019). Future research might unpack the longer-​term effects that these caregiving identity transitions have for grandparent–​ parent–​g randchild relationships over time, as well as after the mother’s release. Social identity

As with changes in the home, the caregivers also found that their social lives were affected. For Shelia, being the full-​time caregiver of her grandson meant that she and her husband were unable to socialise with friends in the same way. She explains how they adapted their lives around their grandson but that this had been difficult given the age and life stage of some of their friends, who, unlike them, did not have children in their care: Shelia:

‘Before [my daughter] went away, we used to go out to friends and have a night out, like, go for

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meals and go pub … but, like, now, it’s a little bit different because, you know, our friends are like our age and they don’t really want to invite us over with a kid.’ Natalie: ‘And what’s that like?’ Shelia: ‘It’s hard but, like, our really close friends, they accept it and they see the situation so I suppose in the last ten months, since she’s been away, we’ve had people over here a bit more because we can always send him to bed when he’s home [Shelia laughs]. So, you know, we are finding ways around it, changing our lifestyle really.’ (Shelia, grandmother) Janice and Shannon similarly explain how caring for their grandchildren meant that opportunities to socialise were restricted because they did not have the same freedom to ‘go out’ when they wished: ‘It’s like, now, we can’t just say “Oh, we’ll go out for a drink tonight” or “Oh, we’ll go out for some tea”, you know, just on us own, or “Oh, we’ll go to the pictures”, we can’t do it anymore.’ (Janice, grandmother) ‘Our lives have totally changed: no drinking, no going out, no socialising!’ (Shannon, grandmother) Morgan’s (1999) theoretical framework of ‘family practices’ acknowledges activities outside of the home, inviting consideration of the sociable activities that caregivers are no longer able to ‘do’ as a direct result of the changes that maternal imprisonment brings to their lives. The findings support research with grandparents in informal kinship arrangements that similarly highlights the restrictions that caregiving brings to their ability to engage in social activities (Selwyn et al, 2013). However, in a different way, the prison sentence could also alter their

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willingness to socialise as some caregivers, like Claudia, preferred to stay at home. This decision came from a fear of stigma and disapproval from people in her community who knew that her daughter was in prison: “I don’t really socialise out, I don’t go anywhere … with what people are saying and, you know, because there’s some nasty people about, they’re rude” (Claudia, grandmother). Grandparents Derek and Madeline also explained how they aimed to “keep to ourselves”. While Chapter Six examines stigma in more detail, this section has begun to show the pervasive nature of ‘courtesy stigma’ (Goffman, 1963) for caregivers as they describe their fears of entering their local communities. Taken together, these profound identity changes will have lasting effects on caregiving relatives: how they view themselves and are viewed by others. This is therefore one way in which the ‘family sentence’ causes irreversible and enduring harms for people who have committed no infractions themselves. Work commitments and financial considerations

The financial implications of looking after the children were extensive, from affording extra everyday costs such as food, to buying clothing as they grow out of existing items, providing money for school trips and financing nursery places. This explains why a large body of research has indicated that there is a substantial economic cost for families during parental imprisonment (SEU, 2002; Christian et al, 2006; Dixey and Woodall, 2012). Findings from research exploring paternal imprisonment showed how childcare responsibilities can affect the caregivers’ participation in employment (Losel et al, 2012). Similarly, when Miriam assumed the care of her three granddaughters (all under five years of age), she decided that it would be better for their well-​being, and more cost-​efficient, to leave her job: ‘I did work but I gave up my job when the children came to live with me … it would be very difficult for me to

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go back to work, and I thought with three little ones, they’ve been through so much already [and] for me to just go off to work, it wouldn’t be the right thing … so I decided to give my job up and look after the children.’ (Miriam, grandmother) Age was also an important factor for Janice when she assumed the care of two young grandchildren, aged ten months and six years. The high costs of external childcare outweighed her income and so she decided to substantially reduce her working hours to look after the baby at home: “I used to work 40 hours and I’ve cut it down to 15 to take care of them … it wouldn’t be worth me going back to work if I paid for nursery” (Janice, grandmother). In the families with school-​aged children, the caregivers were less likely to leave paid work. Instead, they renegotiated their home and working lives around childcare responsibilities. As Shannon explains, she and her husband worked shifts so that they could share the school run during the mother’s sentence: ‘My husband’s doing nights and I work days while we’ve got the kids … my husband will take the kids to school, and I finish work at half one and go get them … I won’t give my job up ‘cause I’m 25 years next month in my job; it’s the pension at the end of the day.’ (Shannon, grandmother) Other grandparents shared these age-​related concerns as they approached retirement and had to consider their future earning capacity. Shelia, another grandmother in her 50s, was nearing retirement and talks about her precarious financial situation as she would lose pension income if she left paid work: ‘Our money is really stretched. Now we’re eating into our savings to take him away and do things … the little money we had put away for our pension, that’s going to

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be non-​existent, and if I give up work and claim benefits and that, then I am losing pension, you know, whereas if I carry on working for another few years, then I will end up getting a decent pension.’ (Shelia, grandmother) Another consideration for working caregivers was negotiating paid leave from work to enable them to look after the children in school holidays. This was not always something that the caregivers had to manage alone as practical and financial support were two key characteristics of the collective caregiving practices outlined in Chapter Two. Nonetheless, Annette explains how taking time off for social services and her daughter’s court hearing had left her with little paid leave from work: “I used all my holidays for social services, for the court case, so I’ve got none” (Annette, grandmother). Caregivers also revealed having to be careful with their money as some had experienced a loss of income when the mother had been making a significant financial contribution to the household. Daniel’s wife lost her job when she went to prison, which left him struggling to manage everyday costs and basic amenities, such as providing food for his daughters. At times, his dad had helped him afford groceries: ‘We are, to be fair, struggling financially, like money-​ wise, since their mum lost her job … I have to find the shortfall and, obviously, feeding the girls and money in the car and money in the house and stuff like this, it’s a nightmare … but I’ve got the backing of me dad, me dad just sometimes pops round to see if I’m alright and that’s when I’d say “Well, we’re struggling for food and stuff” and he’ll go and take me shopping.’ (Daniel, [step]father) In a similar way to these collective caregiving practices, Lucy and Kristen worked together to pool resources, especially as when asked about statutory support, they said:

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Lucy: ‘We’ve not received a penny.’ Kristen: ‘No financial support whatsoever and they stopped the mother’s benefit on the day she got convicted and there’s been no concern for the kids … when you go shopping and stuff, you get what you need whereas, normally, you’d chuck a few extra bits in the trolley.’ Lucy: ‘We’re just muddling through ourselves.’ (Lucy, grandmother; Kristen, cousin) The loss of household income was not only in the form of the mother’s paid work, but also with regard to her being the recipient of child benefits. Although Chapter Six provides a more detailed examination of the issues facing caregivers trying to access statutory support, this section has highlighted the many ways in which maternal imprisonment impacted the caregivers’ engagement in paid work, pension pots, access to holidays, household incomes and overall financial situation. As in previous studies (Raikes, 2016), many were clearly in a vulnerable economic and social position, and in need of support. It is these circumstances that need to be better accounted for in policy initiatives that appear to shift responsibility for reducing recidivism to families (see Farmer, 2017, 2019). Indeed, it is unethical to expect families to shoulder this without the appropriate resources and support with which to manage it. Summary Taking a chronological approach, the findings in this chapter trace the aftermath of the mother’s imprisonment and the caregivers’ experiences and perceptions of assuming care for the children. The unexpected sentence caused feelings of bereavement and loss (see Bockneck et  al, 2009) as caregivers got to grips with the shock news of the imprisonment. Research with mothers (Masson, 2019) indicates that legal professionals can wrongly advise them that a custodial

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sentence will not be issued; likewise, the families in this study were given similar misinformation and were not expecting such a severe sentence or a conviction. Of critical concern is that these misconceptions hindered opportunities to prepare for the mother’s removal and to organise childcare arrangements. Nonetheless, there was a strong sense that children should remain within the family, which, as reported elsewhere (Macintosh et  al, 2006), was deemed preferable to social care and to better facilitate mother–​child contact. However, even in the small number of families where some preparations for a prison outcome were made, the reality of caregiving in the absence of the mother was not fully realised. This signals a need for better information sharing. Additional tasks, such as moving the children into their home and explaining their mother’s absence, were emotionally and practically challenging for caregivers, though the new findings from this study help to explain how and why these difficult decisions were reached. Longer-​term renegotiations involved managing other aspects of the mother’s affairs, such as housing tenancies, possessions and finance. While organising these affairs from prison can be challenging, it was further burdensome for caregiving kin and the wider family, who were already grappling with the renegotiations of their everyday lives. Collective caregiving practices were again observed here as friends and relatives supported the primary kin caregivers with the changes to accommodate the additional childcare responsibilities. Other renegotiations included their identity, their everyday ‘family practices’ in the home and their engagement in paid work and in social activities. Ultimately, these lived experiences provide evidence that relatives are serving a painful and challenging ‘family sentence’ as it is clear that the mother’s imprisonment had profound and adverse repercussions on the lives and experiences of these caregivers, as well as several other family members. The chapter also identified some issues, especially housing and finances, that might be alleviated by improved

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statutory support and additional information, which are not generally provided in these socially disenfranchised caregiving arrangements. Notes 1 2

3

For a definition of the primary kin caregivers, see Chapter Two. A person is remanded into prison custody either ahead of their trial or while they await their sentence after having been found guilty of an offence. Email-​a-​prisoner is a service where friends and family can email prisoners for a small fee (40p per message) (see Chapter Four; see also HMIP, 2016).

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FIVE Navigating the criminal justice system

Introduction All caregivers who participated in this study remained in contact with the imprisoned mother, and so their narratives offer an important opportunity to examine how caregiving kin can maintain relationships during maternal imprisonment. These insights are especially pertinent in light of –​and in comparison to –​the current political and policy climate, which has advocated support for prisoners’ family ties (MoJ and HMPPS, 2019a; see also Chapter One). Yet, contact with a person in prison is restricted and mediated by criminal justice policies and processes (HMIP, 2016). Therefore, this chapter focuses on the caregivers’ experiences of navigating the criminal justice system (CJS)as they followed the mother through court and into prison. There are four main sections: • Caregivers’ experiences of court processes, including the sequence of events and practices that followed the mother’s removal into custody.

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• Caregivers’ opportunities for re-​establishing contact with the mother on the telephone and face to face in the first days and weeks of her sentence. • Caregivers’ perceptions of maintaining contact with the mother on the telephone, via prison visits and through letter writing over time, as well as the role that technology could play in supporting this. • Caregivers’ understandings and perceptions of MBUs when a child in their family was housed in prison or awaiting confirmation of a place. Court processes There is limited understanding of how family members experience a relative’s court case and the sequence of events that follow when a mother receives a prison sentence. Although the mother’s journey into the criminal justice system begins at the point of arrest, caregivers’ stories tended to begin with the mother’s trial at court because in nearly all of the families,1 this was the first time that they came into contact with the criminal justice system. In Chapter Three, it was clear how the custodial sentence was unexpected by most caregivers and therefore exceptionally emotional at this time. Building on this, it is important to understand how court practices were experienced and perceived by family members. Court practices

Many of the caregivers accompanied the mother to court and witnessed the hearing from the public gallery. Primary kin caregivers had close relationships with the mother  –​as partner, parents or friends –​and wanted to support her. Once the sentence was announced, the caregivers were not only in shock about the custodial sentence (see Chapter Three), but also astonished at the lack of facilities or opportunities to speak

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with the mother again at court and before she was taken into custody: ‘When we was at court and they read out the sentence, I thought it was really bad that we weren’t allowed to, like, speak to her, like, afterwards, just to, you know, just give her a hug or whatever, just to sort of, like, ‘cause she was just, like, snatched away.’ (Martha, grandmother) Lorraine and Janice described how they found this process particularly hard because the mother had two young children, one of whom was ten months old and breastfeeding: Lorraine: ‘What I find really hard is that she was just taken away and you couldn’t even have a visit with her before she went down … we didn’t know [if there] was anything we need to pass on, and she’s got two children that depend on her.’ Janice: ‘They didn’t even ask if she was still breastfeeding; they just took her away that night.’ (Lorraine, friend; Janice, grandmother) This harsh process ignores that the individual being removed is a mother, and overlooks the possible need for her to discuss and organise childcare arrangements with family members. The system is even more inappropriate given that Janice’s daughter was taken away while breastfeeding. These practices are surely not in the ‘best interests of the child’, which should be considered in all matters concerning children, as outlined in the UNCRC (United Nations, 1989), of which England and Wales are signatories. The organisation of childcare from court was an issue raised by Lord Farmer (2019) and in the JCHR (2019) inquiry, to which the Ministry of Justice’s response (MoJ, 2019) appropriately proposes a review of operational guidelines to ensure that opportunities for contact from custody

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suites are formalised and consistent. Whether this leads to positive change is questionable given that the findings here are akin to previous research, which has repeatedly found limited consideration of a defendant’s maternal status and caregiving responsibilities during sentencing decisions (Epstein, 2012; Minson, 2014). Furthermore, caregivers were surprised at the lack of care or concern for the welfare of the mother’s children. Shelia explained how nobody seemed concerned about her six-​year-​old grandson during the trial, with no consideration of potential welfare and caregiving if her daughter was imprisoned: “When she went and was sentenced and taken away, nobody mentioned about her son, it was like he didn’t exist” (Shelia, grandmother). Dependent children are not identified at court or at any other stage in the criminal justice system (see Chapter One). PSRs could improve awareness of a defendant’s parental status during court proceedings and have been proposed to address this (PRT, 2015, 2018); however, they remain inadequately used by courts serving England and Wales (JCHR, 2019). As such, the mothers were removed into custody immediately from court and caregivers did not know what the next steps were for them or the mother. Daniel spent a weekend unsure of his wife’s whereabouts, being particularly worried about her because she had not taken clothes or medication with her to court: ‘There’s nothing at court to say what to do afterwards, they just say “She’s gone” and then [you] go and try and find out any information, where she might be going or what happens next, and there was nobody to ask so we was just left in limbo. So I went to see the court people and the court people said “Well, we don’t know where she’s going to go, she could end up anywhere, it’s just wherever the drivers go … she could end up in Durham, she could end up in Liverpool, you know, she could end up in Wakefield” … so I said “Well, what do I do?” because, obviously, she’s come [to court], she’s got no clean clothes,

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she’s got no medication … there were nobody to ask, and then a few days went by because [her court hearing] was the end of the week, [so] over the whole weekend, we didn’t hear anything.’ (Daniel, [step]father) Several caregivers, like Daniel, were concerned that the mother was taken into custody without her personal possessions, having not packed a bag for court because a custodial sentence was not anticipated. Caregivers were unsure how to get these items to her as they were given little or no access to advice or information at court despite being at the crux of the family as the ones who respond to the complex and difficult tasks that arise in the mother’s absence (see Chapter Four). Given that this was the first experience of maternal imprisonment for many caregivers, this loss was exceptionally distressing. Locating support

Caregivers’ accounts demonstrate how they were unsure of where to turn for help and guidance after the court hearing and the mother’s removal into prison: “I would have liked to know who to call if I’d of needed it, which was another thing when she was sentenced; we hadn’t a clue who to go to or what to do” (Madeline, grandmother); “The problem is: who do you phone?” (Lorraine, friend). Demonstrating a need for improved family-​focused practices in the criminal justice system, Ava suggested that someone should be employed by the court to ask about the children and guide families through the complex processes: ‘There should be someone there, maybe at the court, who can get in touch with the family and say “Right, this is what you need to do and this is the process, etc, etc” … somebody there [with the prisoner] saying “Right, who do I  need to contact about the kids?”, and then they phone you [the family] and say “Right,

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so-​and-​so has gone to prison; she’s got ten months.” ’ (Ava, grandmother) One voluntary sector organisation operating in England and Wales (PACT) identified this same gap in provisions to support and inform families at court. In recent years, they have been working to establish family liaison workers in courts to help alleviate some of the confusion and stress of losing a family member to prison. The court where Kevin’s partner was sentenced had this provision and his experience shows how the support was appreciated: ‘They were there at the court … and, obviously, as soon as whatever happened, they came over and spoke to me and I said “Hi, I’m Kevin and I’m looking after the kids” and we went from there … they are based in the local area but basically any problems I have, they are there to support me.’ (Kevin, [step]father) However, no other families received this information and support, likely because England and Wales are reliant on voluntary organisations like PACT to run such initiatives, rather than it being a statutory resource. Provisions of this nature are a ‘postcode lottery’ (Raikes, 2016), depriving many families of much-​needed guidance and leaving them feeling isolated and disenfranchised by processes that have directly impacted them. One service that has been rolled out nationally in recent years is the ‘Prisoners’ Families Helpline’ (originally the Offenders’ Families Helpline), which is a free phone service funded by the MoJ and run by the voluntary sector. Evaluations have found that this was an effective resource for families with a prisoner in the family (Sharratt and Cheung, 2014). However, only a few caregiving kin in this study had either phoned the helpline or knew of its existence. Information about the service was not

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widespread or adequately advertised, which is perhaps linked to the poor provision of court workers who may be well placed to advise families about this service. Ultimately, this evidence signals a need for local courts, prisons and welfare agencies to be accessible and amenable to helping families who, through no fault of their own, are trying to organise their lives and families in the absence of the mothers. Although emphasis has been placed on supporting prisoner–​family relationships in recent policy discourse (MoJ and HMPPS, 2019a), the findings from this study indicate a paucity of statutory resources and support for family members in practice. Re-​establishing contact The mother’s removal into custody was distressing for caregivers, and many wanted to establish contact with her at the earliest opportunity. Prisoners can have contact with family and friends using telephones, visitation and mail (HMIP, 2016). The expectation is that ‘regular and easy access’ is available to all forms of communication (HMIP, 2016: 5). However, the findings show how children and families are overlooked in court practices; likewise, many of the caregivers reported problems and delays in re-​establishing contact at prison on the telephone and through prison visits. On the telephone

Caregivers were worried about the mother’s well-​being and safety in prison. This is probably because it was the mother’s first custodial sentence in 14 families, and so primary kin caregivers were unfamiliar with the prison environment. Martha and Malcolm became increasingly worried about their daughter when they had not heard from her in the two weeks after she was taken into prison and as they struggled to gain information and guidance from the prison. Martha

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was particularly concerned because of the ‘stories’ of prison environments that she had heard in the media (Sparks, 1992): Martha:

‘From when she first went in, it was a real worry, wasn’t it? I was really, really, really anxious to be honest because you hear these stories … [and] when she was sentenced and they took her away, we didn’t speak to her or see her for two weeks; there wasn’t nothing for about two weeks.’ Malcolm: ‘No, there wasn’t, we were like, obviously, really worried because we hadn’t heard, not even a phone call, from her … there is a lack of information, like, between everyone that’s involved … and then they [the prison] never ring back do they? And nobody answers and everyday we’re left wondering what happens because no one tells us what happens next.’ Martha: ‘We was sort of unaware of what was going on and, like, when it’s your daughter, or anybody, like a relative or whatever, then that’s going to cause the people outside to be, like, really anxious.’ (Martha and Malcolm, grandparents) Prisoners should be given a reception phone call on the day they are received into prison (NOMS, 2011b). However, just seven of the families received a phone call from the mother on the same day. Not knowing how or when contact would be established was stressful and upsetting for family members, not just because they wanted to hear from the mother to relieve their own worries, but also so that they could reassure the children and facilitate mother–​child contact. As with previous research (Caddle and Crisp, 1997), all of the mothers had been actively involved in their children’s lives before being imprisoned. Acknowledging this, gender-​specific guidelines in Prison Service Order (PSO) 48002 on women prisoners (NOMS, 2008: 9) recommends that mothers should be given ‘at least

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one 5 minute phone call’ to sort out familial responsibilities and other childcare arrangements. Yet, Lucy describes how the first telephone conversation with her daughter lasted only two minutes, despite her having been the sole carer of her two young children. Of concern, is that this telephone call was only facilitated after Lucy contacted the prison: “We didn’t hear a thing, did we? In fact, I ended phoning the prison up and saying ‘I’ve not heard, I’ve not heard from my daughter’ and I was crying … it were about a week [when she phoned] and the call were only about two minutes” (Lucy, grandmother). In response to these poor processes, families proposed that an information pack about the prison and the processes would help them navigate these unknown procedures. The need for the proactive provision of information and guidance to families at the earliest stage following a family member’s imprisonment has previously been identified as a key requirement for relatives (Loucks, 2005). As Lorraine explains, there is no one there to support the families at the prison as they do not get invited to an induction and are consequently clueless about what to expect:  “Something like a fact sheet … there’s no workers that come out and induct you into the prison –​what’s going to happen to you; what’s going to happen to them –​you’re just clueless” (Lorraine, friend). The inadequate processes identified do not provide ‘easy access’ to contact as expected (HMIP, 2016) and needed by mothers (NOMS, 2008). They also fail to acknowledge the pain and trauma that separation by imprisonment causes within families, and actually exacerbate the punishment that accompanies the custodial sentence. In doing so, children and families are disadvantaged, indicating how they too are serving a ‘family sentence’. Face-​to-​face contact

As well as telephone contact, the caregivers were keen to arrange a prison visit to see the mother face to face at the earliest opportunity. Many were unfamiliar with prison

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processes and were unsure how to arrange this –​even when telephone contact had been established. Daniel’s first conversation with his wife on the telephone had been brief, so he was unable to ask how to book a visit. Fortunately, because she had told him which prison she was being held in, he was able to phone the prison directly to ask for more information: ‘The phone rang and I answered it and she said “Oh, it’s only me” … and so I said, “Well, where are you?” and she said [the prison] and said “This is me prison number” … and then she said “I’ve got to go now because my money’s running out but can you send me some money?” So I said “Well, how do I get in to see you?” and at that, the phone went dead. So, I rang up [the prison] and was speaking to the prison officer and I said “I’ve never been in this situation, what do I do?” … and I said “Well, how do I get a visit?” and so she [prison officer] said “Well, the only time you can come and visit is when she sends you a visiting order” and so I said “Well, how do I get in touch with her to tell her to send me a visiting order?” ’ (Daniel, [step]father) At the prison where Daniel’s wife was held, family and friends could only book visits via the mother after receiving a visiting order (VO). Prisoners send VOs to family and friends through the post. For Daniel, the VO took five days to arrive. At another prison, the caregivers had to book the visit directly with the prison (rather than through the mother), which, in theory, could enable contact sooner –​and without telephone contact having been established. However, this was not necessarily the case. As Kevin recalls, his first visit was seriously delayed because the prison failed to respond to his messages, which he found particularly stressful: “It’s so unorganised, it took me ages, a couple of weeks to organise a visit … I tried phoning and messages, email, email, you know, email, email, someone please phone me back … so that’s that stress level

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building [and then] going up to the prison was daunting” (Kevin, [step]father). Around half of the caregivers experienced similar delays as Kevin and had to wait over a week to visit the mother. Kevin’s previous extract also alludes to the anxieties shared by many of the caregivers as they discussed their apprehension and concerns around visiting the prison for the first time. Five of the caregivers visited alone on the first occasion, explaining that this was so that they could scope out the environment: ‘I went down first to suss it all out, [the] first time I went on me own just to see what the layout was, and, obviously, I needed to take … clothes and everything and, obviously, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to take the kids with me.’ (Daniel, [step]father) ‘I went to the prison myself to see it first, to see what it was all like because I wasn’t really sure, you have this depiction in your head that it’s going to be really awful and when I went to see her, I saw that they had some child-​friendly things there.’ (Rebecca, grandmother) The anxieties revealed in the caregivers’ narratives likely occurred because they had received little support during this time, causing them to struggle to manage their expectations of ‘the prison’. These sentiments were shared in Condry’s (2007b: 6) study, which found that families had to undertake a ‘socialisation process’ as they navigated through their first prison visit (see also Sharratt, 2014). This involved quickly learning the prison rules, environment and procedures, which one grandmother in this study, Ava, described as a “learning curve”. The multiple delays and problems in establishing contact may help us to better understand why family members found the separation so emotionally fraught and distressing (see Chapter Four). It also points towards a lack of commitment by the prison service in acknowledging and accommodating family

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life during the first weeks of a mother’s sentence –​contrary to popular policy discourse that pledges support for these ties (MoJ and HMPPS, 2019a). Maintaining contact Caretakers of prisoners’ children have been identified as ‘gatekeepers’ of contact (Tasca, 2016). However, the caregivers in this study were motivated to sustain both the children’s and their own relationships with the mother during her sentence (Booth, forthcoming). Despite these best efforts, several barriers were revealed, hindering opportunities to maintain contact on the telephone, through prison visits and via letters and emails. The cost of telephoning

The high cost of telephoning from prison is a well-​known challenge for prisoners and their families as they seek to stay in touch (PRT, 2006; HMIP, 2016; Booth, 2018b). In prisons serving England and Wales, telephones are one-​way (from the prison) and money must be allocated to personal telephone accounts every week by the prisoner and sourced either from wages (from engagement in work or education) or from financial contributions received from family and friends (NOMS, 2011b; HMIP, 2016). Martha explained how her daughter had limited telephone credit, which shortened their contact and precluded conversations about important matters, such as her daughter’s banking situation: ‘She only gets a certain amount of credit, [so] phone calls have to be not even a minute sometimes … so we’ve got to cram everything, we’ve got to say and listen to her within such a short space of time … like, the other day, we were trying explain about banking and things like that and you can’t do that, like, within a minute; it’s impossible.’ (Martha, grandmother)

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Given that many caregivers became responsible for organising many facets of the mother’s affairs (see Chapter Four), these shortened conversations could undermine these efforts. However, more frequent telephone contact could be achieved in some families where the mother was detained in a prison with in-​cell telephone facilities. Although these telephones are subjected to the same level of security as those in communal areas, such as prison wings, they allow prisoners to make phone calls when they are in their cells (HMIP, 2016). Similar to the previous findings (Sharratt, 2014; HMIP, 2016), in-​cell phones were found to support the mothers to maintain improved family contact. In 2018, the serving Justice Minister, David Gauke, said that in-​cell telephones would be rolled out across all prisons serving England and Wales (MoJ, 2018f). While this development is welcomed, we should remember that in-​cell telephones do not address the issues associated with the cost of telephoning. Kevin explains how the in-​ cell telephone facilitated daily mother–​child contact but was unnecessarily expensive: ‘I have daily contact with her … I think that’s what eases the situation … but it’s so expensive … phoning the house is 10p a minute and we could talk all night if we had to, what is the basic rate of any normal BT[3] after 6 o’clock? It’s like a penny a minute, so I don’t understand, we live in the 21st century, calling shouldn’t be that expensive.’ (Kevin, [step]father) The issues with affording telephone contact contradict sentiments expressed in several policy documents that have appeared to support prisoner–​f amily ties (Farmer, 2017; MoJ and HMPPS, 2019a). These processes also place additional economic pressures on family members who, as seen in Chapters Three and Four, could already be burdened with extra housing and childcare costs while having less household income. Added together, caregiving kin were struggling to

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manage several competing financial commitments against the backdrop of no statutory assistance or subsidies, which, realistically, could be vital in helping separated relatives to afford telephone contact. Booking visits

Primary kin caregivers talked about the problems of maintaining face-​to-​face contact through prison visits. At one prison, they could book their visit on the telephone or internet once their VO arrived; however, they described this process as lengthy and frustrating: ‘It’s terrible, absolutely terrible … because it’s busy, and if you don’t keep putting the phone down straight away and then picking it straightaway back up then you don’t get through.’ (Annette, grandmother) ‘It takes you hours on the phone to get a visit … I mean, it took forever, literally forever, and I mean, alright, you could do it on the internet but we aren’t on the internet so what then?’ (Derek, grandfather) Processes such as these created additional stress and worry for family members who wanted to see the mother but were continually met with inaccessible provisions. However, this supports previous research detailing booking facilities as not being user-​friendly (Loucks, 2005; Codd, 2008; Sharratt, 2014). One way in which the government has tried to respond to this is through the introduction of an online booking system, which has been slowly rolled out across England and Wales since 2015.4 However, Derek highlighted how the online booking system was problematic for those families who do not have access to the internet or who are not computer literate.

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The timing of visits

Another barrier to face-​to-​face contact on visits was organising these around other commitments. This is because the prison dictates the visiting times, and on weekdays, the visits tended to clash with school pick-​up times or with the caregivers’ working hours: ‘In the week, visits are just in the afternoon, which means if we’re going on a visit, then who’s going to pick the kids up from school? It’s not easy.’ (Lucy, grandmother) ‘I’m at work; I can’t do it in the week. I used all my holidays for social services, for [the] court case, so we visit on a weekend only.’ (Annette, grandmother) Caregiving kin are balancing a multitude of responsibilities, including paid work (see Chapter Four), making weekend visits more convenient and most popular. Ava explains how those families who had booked in later down the queue –​but still on time –​could have their visit curtailed on a weekend because the higher volume of people caused delays in the process: ‘On a Saturday, there’s, like, 40 people visiting, so … by the time the last lot go [in to the prison], there could be one hour left … I think that’s pretty tough, I mean, if you’re going to get a two-​hour visit, it should be two hours and I  think that [just] because you arrived sort of near the end of the queue, you shouldn’t have your visiting time curtailed.’ (Ava, grandmother) It is not appropriate that face-​to-​face contact is dictated by these operational processes, but without significant ‘cultural’ change in prisons (Farmer, 2017), obstacles such as those identified here will remain. Of critical concern is that these

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practices do not recognise or prioritise children’s legal rights to see their imprisoned mothers, as indicated in the UNCRC (United Nations, 1989). For the caregivers, it also meant less time face to face with the mother despite their best efforts to facilitate these mother–​child relationships by dedicating time, money and effort to travelling long distances to the prison. Travel distance and costs

As there are fewer women in prison, there are correspondingly fewer female prisons dispersed across England (NOMS, 2013). Women are generally held further away from their home, which is a practical concern for mothers wanting to sustain family ties (Corston, 2007; MoJ, 2018d). The average distance between a mother’s home and prison was 49 miles in this study. Table 5.1 shows the range of distances travelled by relatives, and illustrates how six families were travelling over 60 miles (one way) to visit the incarcerated mother. The figures in Table 5.1 are based on the accounts of the interviewees at the prison where the mother was detained at the time of the interview.5 Malcolm was frustrated that although there was a female prison only 18 miles from their home, his request for his daughter to be transferred to this prison in order to better enable family contact was not approved: ‘They should have a system that looks at whether they [prisoners] are parents or [if] someone [is] coming up every week and they should look at that to make it fair … not for their sake, but for the families’ sake. We come up [to the prison] every week … it would make it so much easier because that prison’s only 18 miles away instead of 80 miles away.’ (Malcolm, grandfather) Travelling long journeys involves navigating motorways and other busy roads to get to the prison, and as Shelia explains, the travel time varied and was often unpredictable, which made

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Table 5.1: Distance from home to prison (one way) Distance (miles)

Number of families

0–​20

5

21–​40

2

41–​60

2

61–​80

4

81–​100

2

Total

15

Source: Author’s own research.

planning these visits all the more challenging and stressful: “It’s 60 miles there and then 60 miles back so it’s about a 120-​mile round trip, it’s just a nightmare, it’s an absolute nightmare … it depends what the motorway is like, it depends on the day, how long [it takes]” (Shelia, grandmother). In some instances, families reported spending more time preparing for the prison visit and travelling than actually face to face with the mother. As Terry and Jasmine explained, visiting the mother took up most of the day when they considered the time and effort needed to prepare and travel with their three-​year-​old grandson: Jasmine: ‘It’s a day out, it’s a day out for us.’ Terry: ‘We leave here at about 12 or 12.30  … but it doesn’t start at 12 o’clock; it starts about 9 o’clock in the morning because you’ve got to get the kids ready, you’ve got to get yourself up, you’ve got the drinks, the food, you’ve got to get everything ready … we make the journey, we do a two-​hour journey, four-​hour round trip … we get back at about 7 o’clock … so it’s like a 12-​hour shift just organising a couple-​hour visit.’ (Jasmine and Terry, grandparents) Travelling long distances to visit was also costly for the families. This was an added pressure given that many of the families

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were grappling with poor financial situations (see Chapter Four). Daniel explains how the 150-​mile round trip accounts for a large proportion of his benefits, which, owing to his poor health, was his only source of income during his wife’s imprisonment: “It’s, like, 75 miles there and 75 miles back, and also when you’re on benefits and stuff like that, it does take quite a chunk out of your money each week so it cost us in our car about £30 a trip” (Daniel, [step]father). The APVS is a government-​run initiative to support low-​income families with the travelling costs of prison visits. Of those interviewed, only three families knew about the scheme, and of these, only one primary kin caregiver was using it. Information about the APVS can normally be found on government websites and in prison visitors’ centres but, as Claudia suggests, is not widely known among family members (PRT, 2018). Claudia explained how the APVS was useful for her in facilitating contact between her daughter and grandson, and that she was committed to telling others about it in case they could also benefit from it: ‘You fill a form in each month and it costs me £60 to go up [to the prison] and then they give me back £56.80 in travelling … I’d been going [to the prison] six weeks when I sat down and talked to another lady and she said to me “Are you doing that assisted prison visits form?” and I said “I don’t know what you mean” and she told me how to do it and that’s how I got to know. So, when new people come in now, I tell them, I tend to make a point of saying “You can probably get travelling expenses.” ’ (Claudia, grandmother) One person that Claudia told about the APVS was Daniel, whom she had met in the prison visitors’ centre (see Chapter Two), but who considered the process rather ‘long-​winded’: ‘I know you can claim for mileage but it’s a long-​winded form you have to fill in and it’s got to be sent to the

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governor and the governor has to approve it and then they’ve got to send you a cheque and then stuff like that, and so by the time you’ve done it, and you can only do it once every month.’ (Daniel, [step]father) Likewise, Derek and Madeline decided not to claim travel money because their daughter was moved to a prison ten miles away and they felt that it would not be worth the effort. Previous research has indicated that it rarely covers all the visiting costs (Sharratt, 2014), though the little knowledge of the APVS in this sample makes it difficult to gauge whether this was an issue for these families. Of critical concern is that the APVS is one of the only means of financial support for prisoners’ families, and it holds strong potential to help prisoners’ families’ ties and meet strategic goals (MoJ and HMPPS, 2019a). Despite its potential, it does not appear user-​friendly or well advertised, and is subsequently underused. Prison visiting processes and environment

Prison visiting processes can be degrading for family members (Codd, 2008; Dixey and Woodall, 2012; Sharratt, 2014; O’Malley and Devaney, 2016). This is because family members assume the identity of a ‘quasi-​inmate’ as although they remain free and innocent citizens, they are being managed in a tightly controlled environment, positioned on the periphery of freedom and detention (Condry, 2007a, 2007b). Similarly, several caregivers revealed feeling uncomfortable and dissatisfied with their treatment at the prison. This links to ‘courtesy stigma’ (Goffman, 1963), which relatives of prisoners can experience through their links to a lawbreaking person (see Chapter Six): “It’s just, well, you just feel like you get treated as though you’re a prisoner and you’re not, you’re visiting a prisoner, do you know what I mean? You get treated like you’re the criminal as well” (Daniel, [step]father). In the prison visiting room, caregivers often felt that the quality of

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their mother–​child contact was impeded by the regime, which does not permit the mothers to get out of their chairs, move around or play with their children (Baldwin, 2015; Booth, 2016, 2018a). Jasmine explains that this is difficult for children to comprehend: ‘There’s an area for the toys but if you’re sat far away and your child wants to go over there, then you can’t expect them to sit down, it’s like my grandson will say “Mummy come and play over here” … when they’re toddlers, it’s like “Why not?” and he don’t know; it’s very hard.’ (Jasmine, grandmother) In response to Jasmine’s comment, Terry proposed that families visiting with children should occupy a different space, perhaps a family room that both facilitates fun activities and encourages play: “You can’t sit in that room and be a mother; I think they should have a separate family room because I believe that the mothers should be allowed to get out of their chairs … the children want their mums to play with them” (Terry, grandfather). Many of the caregivers preferred family visits (or children’s visits as they are sometimes known), which are focused on providing ‘family time in a more normalised environment’ and allow for a ‘better quality of experience and interaction for prisoners and their children’ (NOMS, 2011a: 18). In contrast to social visits, Terry and Jasmine explain how vital the family days are for both the mothers and children: Terry:

‘Family days, though, they are a godsend; it does give the mums a little bit of freedom….’ Jasmine: ‘They have some fun and their faces light up and all on their faces they are all smiling, it’s really nice isn’t it? That they’re smiling, they’re playing with their kids … the family day is good for her [mum] because it’s three hours.’

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Terry:

‘And she’s a parent … I mean, it’s not the kids’ fault their parents are in there.’ Jasmine: ‘And they’re suffering, they’re the ones suffering.’ (Jasmine and Terry, grandparents) The benefits and challenges of family visits identified in this study have been discussed elsewhere (Booth, 2018a). Family days are extended visits with activities that take place within the prison setting; however, they are subjected to penal rules and operations, including staff shortages and searching delays. Likewise, they are extremely popular among the families, and as a prison generally holds only one family day per school holiday (multiple in the summer) or one a month, if a place is not secured at an upcoming family day, then families have to wait between four and six weeks for another. The overriding impression was that despite significant barriers and challenges associated with maintaining face-​to-​face contact through visits, caregivers were motivated to stay in touch with the mother and to try to facilitate contact as best they could (Booth, forthcoming). Yet, these findings indicate substantial discord between families’ experiences in practice and the dominant policy rhetoric, which discursively advocates support for these relationships (MoJ and HMPPS, 2019a). To bridge this gap, substantial cultural and operational change is sorely needed in the prison regime. Postal contact

Although maintaining contact using the telephone and prison visits were favoured methods, caregivers also used postal contact. In principle, prisoners may send and receive an unlimited amount of post (HMIP, 2016). However, except for one letter a week funded by the government, all other outgoing letters must be paid for by the prisoner. Some prisons enable families to post stamped addressed

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envelopes to prisoners, or send in stamps, but rules around this vary considerably across the prison estate. In all prison establishments, prisoners can purchase stamps from the prison using their earnings from paid work or money provided by family members. However, this is the same small pot of money that is used to finance telephone calls and other items, which is already stretched.6 Those who used postal contact explained how the letters provided more space to communicate thoughts and feelings, which were perhaps stifled during short and rushed telephone conversations and due to the associated problems in paying for telephone calls: ‘You want to hear how they are and what they’re doing and, I  mean, a phone call is OK but the credit that she has is only limited and so she has to be very quick and, obviously, you can’t explain a lot on a very quick phone call, so, like, waiting for letters is really important.’ (Martha, grandmother) Owing to potential literacy barriers with younger children, postal contact also enabled contact in different formats, for instance, through pictures and cards. Rebecca discusses the benefits of postal contact for both her daughter in prison and her granddaughter: ‘We try to keep it going as much as we can because my daughter said that’s the best part of the week, receiving mail and then getting to write back to everybody. So, yeah, we do that and she’s constantly writing letters to my granddaughter, and pictures and allsorts, which is really nice for her.’ (Rebecca, grandmother) Postal contact may seem outdated and slow in contemporary society where technological advances have meant that communication can be easy, quick, cheap and available on mobile

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devices. Pita considered how his son “misses sometimes the text on the phone” and Rebecca said that her “hand ached” from all the writing. Modern forms of communication that are taken for granted in society, including text messages and social media, are not yet available for prisoner–​family contact. Technology: emails and video-​calling

A scheme called ‘email-​a-​prisoner’ has been being rolled out across prisons serving England and Wales. This service enables friends and family to email prisoners for a small fee (40p per message) (HMIP, 2016). However, in this study, only four families knew of this service and only two had used it. This might be explained by poor advertising or the lack of availability at the prison in which the mother was detained. Those using email valued the service but found that it could be subject to administrative delays because the process relied on prisons to print off the email and deliver it to the prisoner. Also, they would have liked the service to be two-​way as current provisions do not enable prisoners to respond. Malcolm stated that “it’s good but I wish she could email back”. There are suggestions that two-​way email contact is being trialled at some prisons (Sharratt, 2014) but it is unlikely to be rolled out for some time as not all prisons offer a one-​way service and because of public protection risks associated with allowing prisoners access to the internet. Video-​calling and specifically Skype and FaceTime were identified as two effective ways to facilitate contact. Video-​ calling is available in most prisons to facilitate legal meetings and court hearings but is in the trial stages for family contact. Kevin explained how Skype would benefit the children as they could see their mum and because they are not as keen on talking on the phone: ‘We’re in the 21st century now, so video calling … you know, Skype, it’s free. And I know you need internet

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access and stuff like that but they could sit there with their mum and talk … or something like that so that the kids can actually sit down and talk to her face to face and see that she’s alright and ‘cause the kids don’t like to talk on the telephones, they don’t, they don’t like it, you know, and so, yeah, maybe stuff like that would help, would help the children anyway.’ (Kevin, [step]father) Like Kevin, Rebecca suggests that speaking face to face would better enable her to gauge how her daughter was coping and feeling: “You can’t always see how she’s feeling on the phone, it’s tricky, you know, even if she was [to] FaceTime me, it would be better, just so you could see because sometimes when you’re hearing and you think ‘Are you sure you’re alright? You sure everything’s OK?’ ” (Rebecca, grandmother). Although using technology may not be suitable for all relatives, including those who are not computer literate or without access to the internet, it would clearly have benefits for those who can (Farmer, 2017).7 However, caution is needed to ensure that technology is not implemented to replace face-​to-​face contact as the evidence shows how the family members are advocating video-​calling and emails not to replace other forms of communication, but to enhance and extend the quality of existing contact. There is much uncertainty about the introduction of Skype for family visits following a recent ‘freeze’ across the prison estate.8 MBUs Some primary kin caregivers were navigating their family lives around the prison in a different way because a place on an MBU was a possibility. Mothers of children under 18 months old9 may be eligible for a prison MBU place, which has been viewed as the ‘least bad option’ for families when a mother is taken into custody while pregnant or with a young infant (Children’s Commissioner, 2008). MBUs and pregnancy in

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prisons have received increased research attention in recent years (O’Keeffe and Dixon, 2015; Abbott, 2018) but the views and experiences of relatives have largely been absent. Therefore, it is important that the accounts of caregivers with first-​hand experience of MBUs are explored. Children housed on an MBU

In this study, two of the 30 children whose mothers had been imprisoned in this study had been approved to live with their mothers on a prison MBU. In both instances (Kevin’s and Shannon’s families [see Chapter Two]), the caregivers had looked after the babies when their mothers were first imprisoned and until the MBU admissions process was complete. Generally, this admissions process took around two to three weeks from mother being incarcerated to baby being reunited with her in prison. However, the caregivers were conscious that the children’s residence on the prison MBU meant that they were separated from other family members, including fathers and siblings. Kevin’s narrative illustrates the difficult decision to agree to his son living on the MBU: “I was a little bit like ‘That’s my son’ but then like ‘You’ve got to do what’s right for mum’ and I was like ‘What about what’s right for me?’ But you know … obviously, there’s the whole thing about maternal bonding at an early age” (Kevin, [step]father). Kevin saw his son every week at the prison, and took him out of the prison every two to three weeks to spend a weekend at home. He attended meetings at the prison to voice his opinions when decisions were made and to remain involved in his son’s upbringing. At times, this was met with resistance but Kevin was clear on his position and status as the child’s father: ‘I’m very much involved as a father, even though my son is where he is, I am very much involved, so, yeah, we sat the board [meeting] and we talked about plans… I don’t like people turning round and saying what’s best about

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my son and I understand that my partner got herself in this situation and that my son is up there because of her, but don’t tell me, I know my boy.’ (Kevin, [step]father) Like Kevin, Shannon took her baby grandson from the prison MBU on the occasional weekend so that he could spend time ‘at home’ and with his older siblings:  “I’ve had him for a weekend or two at home and I’m bringing him home Christmas because he isn’t having his first Christmas in prison; he’s having it with his brothers and sister because I’ve got the three kids here, he’s staying with us” (Shannon, grandmother). Shannon explained how her baby grandson would be spending Christmas at home with them, and while this has clear implications for the mother, it also emphasises the importance placed on the sibling bond. As MBUs were only a lived reality for two families, the findings only begin to scratch the surface of the difficult decisions and aspects of being separated from a child housed on a prison MBU for the wider family. Further research would be well placed to investigate these circumstances and relationships in more depth. Awaiting places on MBUs

A further three babies in the care of primary kin caregivers were eligible for a prison MBU place, based on the children’s age and the mother’s offence.10 Lucy was anxiously waiting to hear whether her nine-​month-​old grandson had secured a place on an MBU as she felt that this mother–​child separation was detrimental to their bond. Two months had already elapsed and she was hoping every day that she would receive news that they would be reunited: ‘It’s the worst punishment in the world to take a mother away from her children … and I’m worried about whether she’s going to be able to bond with him again … when she first got convicted, [she was told] that after

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four weeks, her baby would be going in on the Mother and Baby [Unit]. That was … two months ago and he’s still not in!’ (Lucy, grandmother) There was also uncertainty about Annette’s daughter, who was pregnant and due to have her second child while in prison. The stress had been building as her due date was the week after the interview but her place on the MBU had still not been confirmed. Annette was particularly anxious about the birth of her grandchild because she knew that if a MBU place was not provided, she would not be able to afford to look after the baby and social services would take the baby into local authority care: ‘She’s terrified that she’s going to lose her baby, and is it any wonder? To get her on a Mother and Baby Unit, she gets on that unit, that is her chance to keep the baby, if she don’t get it, social services will take it … the social worker says “If I give my job up and just live off my husband’s wage” but we haven’t got enough money to come in … how can I work with a newborn? And if I stop working, they’re saying I haven’t got enough money, so it’s stressing me because this is my grandchild.’ (Annette, grandmother) MBUs were viewed as a valuable resource by the families, which may explain why they were much sought after when the children were eligible. However, the delays in confirming a MBU place are exceptionally concerning as they appear to undermine the ethos of MBU facilities in prison, which are centred on the ‘best interests of the child’. The immense stress and strain of this uncertainty may have damaging and long-​lasting effects on the mother–​child relationship and bond. Likewise, the delays have serious implications for the wider family, who are fraught with worry about the mother and child, and who may be left looking after the infant while

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they wait to hear the outcome as to whether an MBU place has been given. Summary This chapter provided an opportunity to better understand how caregiving kin navigated around the criminal justice system to remain in contact with the mother. This included the impact of court practices that removed the mother immediately following sentencing and that failed to consider the need to discuss childcare arrangements, including one instance where the mother was breastfeeding her six-​month-​old baby. Following this, families were generally left with little support and information at court, and did not know where to turn for guidance. A court worker and information pack from the prison would go a long way in responding to this. This would be especially helpful given that an emergent problem was re-​ establishing contact with the mother. Contrary to policies (NOMS, 2011d), only half of the families received a reception phone call on the day the mother was received into prison. Chapter Four showed how the initial days and weeks following the separation was much like bereavement, and exacerbating this, the findings in this chapter indicate this period as fraught owing to delays and inadequate communicative mechanisms. This was the first time that the majority of the mothers had been to prison, so caregivers were apprehensive about the environment and struggled to manage their expectations. Once contact was established, maintaining this was equally as troublesome on the phone, during prison visits, through postal contact and via the very limited use of technology. The overriding impression was that motherhood and family life are not prioritised within the prison context, despite policy discourse indicating that these relationships should be supported (MoJ and HMPPS, 2019a). Therefore, it is inferred that a significant disparity exists between policy

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and practice in this area, exacerbating the pains of the ‘family sentence’ for caregiving kin. Caregivers in families where infants could be housed in the prison on MBUs provided new insights into the careful balance that had to be struck between managing the needs of relatives inside and outside the prison. Likewise, the uncertainty around receiving a place on the MBU was stressful not only for mothers (Abbott, 2018), but also for caregivers as they worried about the impact of the mother–​child separation, while also taking responsibility for the child in the interim. The realities for the caregivers in this study are clear: they are forgotten and excluded in many criminal justice processes despite being directly affected by them and at the crux of the family in the aftermath of the mother’s imprisonment (see Chapter Four). Thus, these practices render caregivers invisible and contribute to their ‘disenfranchised social status’. Notes 1

2

3 4

5

6

7

8

9

Only one caregiver, Miriam, became involved at the point of arrest as she was contacted by social services to collect her granddaughters from the police station (see Chapter Three). This was the policy guiding prison practices when the fieldwork took place in 2015; however, it has subsequently been replaced by the Women’s Policy Framework (MoJ and HMPPS, 2018). British Telecoms (BT) is a telecommunications company based in the UK. For more information, see:  https:// ​ g ds.blog.gov.uk/​ 2 014/​ 0 9/​ 1 5/​ you-​can-​now-​book-​a-​prison-​visit-​online/​ The mileage was calculated from participants’ accounts or by researching the distance between their home location and the prison. The figures were rounded to the nearest whole number. Other items can include toiletries, stamps and letter-​writing materials, and food and drinks. Prison Voicemail was developed and rolled out in a number of prisons but this occurred after data collection in 2015. This was learned from personal correspondence with a senior manager at a prison in England (October 2019). The upper age limit for England and Wales is usually 18 months (NOMS, 2011c) but can be extended to two years (Children’s Commissioner, 2008).

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Eligibility criteria for MBUs can include that age of the child, the nature of the mother’s offence, offending history and other personal circumstances, followed by the approval from a multidisciplinary board (committee) comprised of prison staff and social workers.

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SIX Social support, familial stigma and release

Introduction This is the final chapter presenting empirical findings from the study and it intends to contextualise the caregivers’ experiences by focusing on their status and position in the wider society. It examines interactions with individuals and agencies external to the caregivers’ own social and family networks. Research has shown that families (Condry, 2007a) and children (Minson, 2018a) experience stigma through their association with a prisoner; relatedly, the narratives of the caregiving kin bring sharply into focus the lived realities of the discrimination and isolation that accompanied their experience of maternal imprisonment. Anxieties about social acceptance, legal guardianship and gaining appropriate support underpinned the caregivers’ accounts while they negotiated the prison sentence and looked to the mother’s future return to the family. This chapter has three main sections, exploring:

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• Challenges facing primary kin caregiver’s without legal guardianship for the children, and their experiences of identifying and securing statutory support. • Caregivers’ experiences, perceptions and management of familial stigma in media reports, their local community, online and at the prison. • Caregivers’ expectations of the mother’s release. This section explores how relatives were approaching the mother’s release in light of the uncertainties and anxieties that they were feeling about further readjustments. Legal guardianship and statutory support Primary kin caregivers in around half of the families interviewed had legal guardianship for the children. Two were biological fathers with parental responsibility (Pita and Daniel), while primary kin caregivers in five additional families had been formally assigned responsibility for the children by social services (see Chapter Two). In the latter instance, they had been looking after the children before the mother came into contact with the criminal justice system (for example, Annette) or after her arrest (for example, Miriam). For these primary kin caregivers, their position as legal guardians of the children was secure and so although the mother’s imprisonment impacted their lives in several ways (as seen in Chapter Three, Four and Five), it did not affect their legal caregiving status. However, for the primary kin caregivers in the remaining eight families, a central concern that underscored their accounts was awareness of their informal caregiving status. This was owing to the ambiguity surrounding their temporary position as the children’s guardians and the lack of awareness of what, if any, legal status and rights they had. In all eight of these families, grandparents were the primary kin caregivers to the children, and this section explores how they managed their status and viewed their family needs in light of the limited statutory support that they discovered was available to them.

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Challenges of not having legal guardianship

Grandparent-​caregivers looking after the children without legal guardianship were in what is known as an informal kinship care arrangement, being agreed between the mother and grandparents, and without social welfare involvement. However, because there was no statutory intervention, there was also no paperwork to substantiate the caregiving arrangements or reassignment of guardianship. This was problematic in everyday settings such as medical and school environments. Shannon recalls how difficult and frustrating it was to try to change her grandchildren’s home address at their doctor’s surgery: ‘It were hard to change their address at the doctors. When I phoned … she said “Well, we can’t do ‘owt about it, you need to be a legal guardian” and I said “I’m their bloody grandma at the end of the day, it’s not like I’m a stranger … children are children and they can get poorly” and I said “I’ve got two with a medical condition so what do I do then?” ’ (Shannon, grandmother) Similarly, one of Derek and Madeline’s granddaughters needed a dental procedure while her mother was in prison but they were unable to sign the consent form for treatment: ‘A couple of months ago, the little one had to have some teeth taken out in hospital … and they said [to me], with the consent form, “You can’t do it”, you know, and I sort of, I flared up a little bit and said “Well, there’s nowt [their mum] can do about it because she’s in prison” … things [like this] happen and I think it’s something that other grandparents should know, that if their daughter or son or whatever goes into prison and there are kids, and they’re looking after them, there ought to be a way of giving them like temporary guardianship for things

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like this. They had to do it over the phone, verbal consent [from mum] with witnesses, and we didn’t know [if it had been done] and we had to be in the hospital the next morning and we didn’t know while 8 o’clock at night if we could take her, and I  think that could be avoided for other people because we had no idea.’ (Derek, grandfather) There are undisputed legal reasons why Derek and Madeline were not permitted to sign the consent form for their granddaughter but, as Derek indicates, they were not aware of these legalities until this medical issue. Relaying information to caregivers and imprisoned parents about their legal status and supporting them with documentation that indicates the temporary reassignment of guardianship may be beneficial. This is especially the case in countries, like in England and Wales, where the mother’s parental responsibility is not necessarily removed when she is imprisoned. Given that the international evidence shows that grandparents and female relatives tend to assume care for children when a mother is in prison (for example, Caddle and Crisp, 1997; Turanovic et al, 2012), it is highly likely that caregivers in other countries may experience similar issues. For example, some states in the US remove a mother’s parental status when she is incarcerated (Enos 2001; Brown and Bloom, 2009). This is also problematic, not least because it removes the ‘temporary’ element to caregiving by making grandparents full-​time carers, but also because it prevents mothers from resuming the care of their children. Something that meets in the middle like a temporary order, as Derek suggests, might better support families in these circumstances. It would prevent primary kin caregivers from becoming disenfranchised from decisions that concern the children in their care. At the time the interviews took place, this type of temporary guardianship was called a Residency Order (RO) in England and Wales.

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ROs

Some primary kin caregivers researched how to become temporary legal guardians for the children in the form of an RO.1 This can state that the child will live with a person who will have parental responsibility for the child until the RO ceases. This might coincide with the mother’s release from prison and/​ or when her housing is secured, perhaps mitigating a catch-​22 situation occurring, whereby mothers need their children to apply for appropriate housing but need appropriate housing to resume the care of their children (Masson, 2019; PRT, 2018). However, caregivers discovered that gaining ROs was too costly, which is consistent with earlier findings that indicated the caregivers’ strained financial situations (see Chapter Four and Five). Similar sentiments were shared by two grandmother-​ caregivers regarding their ability to afford the cost of the RO: ‘So, I’ve been to see a solicitor … ‘cause I wanted to get Residency [Order] but the thing is, I can’t afford it, it’s six grand, it’s six thousand pounds.’ (Janice, grandmother) ‘I said to [social services] “Well, for example, if we would do this [Residency] Order, how much would it cost us?”, “Oh, between £1000 to £2000”, so we haven’t got this money to do it.’ (Annette, grandmother) Caregivers were receiving inconsistent information about the cost of an RO, with quoted figures ranging anywhere between £1,000 and £6,000. In the previous examples, the discrepancies may have occurred because they had quotes from different sources (a solicitor and social services, respectively) and in different geographical locations in England. Yet, these findings indicate the lack of clarity about the cost and process of securing ROs and, relatedly, the difficultly of making these caregiving arrangements legally binding during maternal imprisonment. For some, an added layer of uncertainty was the

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positionality of the children’s fathers, who, unlike grandparent-​ caregivers, had legal parental responsibility for the children (see Chapter Three). Receiving a RO was considered imperative because these caregivers were concerned that the children’s fathers could try to assume guardianship of the children, which would go against their own wishes, as well as the wishes of the imprisoned mother and her children. Given the complex and diverse family formations that comprise contemporary family life –​which families that experience maternal imprisonment are not exempt from –​it would be of great benefit to provide a more structured approach to reallocating the temporary care of children. Lord Farmer (2019) proposes the introduction of social workers in all f​emale prisons, and while it is uncertain whether this would help bridge the current gap, it certainly resonates with what caregivers had expected. Expecting statutory support

Many of the families had expected someone from a statutory agency, such as social services, to automatically contact them about the children when the mother was imprisoned. Shelia had anticipated that the removal of a mother, and primary carer, would have automatically led to enquiries from social services and is critical of these failings in the system: ‘I never, ever realised how bad the system was ‘cause from the minute his mum went away, we expected that someone, social services, are going to be in touch with us, but nothing, absolutely nothing … I can’t believe that no one gets in touch about the welfare of a child. He’s just been forgotten. It’s like he don’t exist. I mean just supposing that that day when she was taken away that she had left him with a child-​minder.… The children are just totally overlooked, you know, they just don’t exist, you know, they just don’t fit into the scheme at all.’ (Shelia, grandmother)

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Likewise, Jasmine and Terry were concerned that welfare agencies had not been contacted to undertake an assessment of them and their suitability to care for a child. As they explain, anyone could be left looking after a child whose mother is in prison: Natalie:

‘Has there been any assistance for you, out here, on the outside?’ Jasmine: ‘Nothing! No social help, no welfare, nobody has knocked on our door … we could be mass murderers. I’m not being funny, that child has not been looked at and I’m not happy with it, that is wrong.’ Terry: ‘They don’t know who we are.’ (Jasmine and Terry, grandparents) These findings mirror previous research across the world which has found that the children of prisoners are systemically ‘invisible’ (Gordon, 2018). Expanding our understanding of this, it is clear that children’s caregivers are also marginalised and left with little support and assistance as they grapple with their new caregiving responsibilities. Although Ava felt ‘trusted’ to care for the children, she also explains how some financial and practical support would have helped to relieve the pressures of caregiving: Ava:

‘We haven’t even had a phone call because my daughter said probation might phone us, social services might phone us, and nobody’s been in contact at all, nothing.’ Natalie: ‘How does that make you feel Ava?’ Ava: ‘In a way, it sort of, I’m trusted and I’m a fine, upstanding citizen, but in a way, I  think they could have been a bit more supportive, I think someone could have phoned and said “Are you coping?”, you know, “Is there anything we can

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do? Do you need us to provide a little bit of money for maybe the little one to have a couple of hours at nursery, you know, just to give you that break?” because it has been hard.’ (Ava, grandmother) Previous research has indicated that imprisoned mothers (Brooks-​Gordon and Bainham, 2004) and families (Selwyn et  al, 2013) can be suspicious of social services out of fear that interventions could result in children being removed from the family. Likewise, in this study, there was reluctance to let children be taken into local authority care (see Chapter Four). Yet, the caregivers’ narratives suggest that some form of involvement was expected –​and perhaps needed –​to account for the possible vulnerabilities of children separated from their mothers. While the children in the families interviewed were considered safe with kin caregivers, this might not always be the case, raising questions about the lack of concern and support from criminal justice and welfare agencies. Again, Lord Farmer’s (2019) recommendation that women’s prisons should employ a social worker might mitigate this, though their presence will also likely be perceived with suspicion from mothers and families. There are wider social concerns as even with a prison-​based social worker, parental ‘loss’ through imprisonment is not given the same status as other losses in society, for instance, through illness or death (Arditti, 2016), increasing the likelihood that caregiving kin will continue to occupy a ‘disenfranchised social status’. Locating support from welfare agencies

The eight grandparent caregivers without legal guardianship of children had no prior experience with social welfare agencies and were unsure how procedures worked. This may explain why they had expected statutory agencies to automatically contact them when the mother was incarcerated. Instead, three primary

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kin caregivers self-​referred to social services to try and gain some financial and practical assistance. For Janice, the self-​referral was futile because her caregiving was categorised as an ‘informal agreement’ between her (the grandmother) and her daughter (the mother). As the children were not considered to be in danger and their household income was above the threshold for financial assistance, social services said that they were unable to offer help: ‘I actually rang them and asked if they could help ‘cause I’m a nursery nurse and I wanted the baby in nursery with me, “Could they help money-​wise?” and [they said] “No, you’ve done a private arrangement with your daughter. Are you on benefits?”, “No”, “Do you, does your partner work?”, [yes] “Well, then, you’re alright, you don’t need our help and we know the children aren’t in danger” and that’s what happened.’ (Janice, grandmother) Likewise, Shelia contacted social services to seek financial support for her grandson but did not get a response from them: “I got in touch with social services and I said to them like ‘Now we’re at this stage, would you please put into the court to get us a childcare Residency Order’ and never heard back from them” (Shelia, grandmother). Previous research has hinted at the lack of social support for grandmothers looking after the children of female prisoners (Raikes, 2016). Expanding our understanding of this –​and in spite of the aforementioned fears of involving social services –​this new evidence shows how the needs of some grandparents outweighed their anxieties of involving welfare agencies. Of significance is that this illuminates the extent to which they felt that they were struggling with their new family circumstances and caregiving obligations. In addition, as most of the mothers had been primary caregivers of their children before prison, they were still in receipt of child benefit payments while in prison. This meant that a viable financial source of support was not redirected to caregiving relatives despite money being a particular area of

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concern for family members (see Chapters Three, Four and Five). Some caregivers changed the name of the child benefit recipient in order to access this additional financial support. However, Derek explained how this took five months, during which time the additional caregiving costs placed a significant strain on their pensions: ‘It took us the best part of five months to swap over all the child benefits … there were letters going backwards and forwards between us … and with both of us on pensions and one thing and another, it was a bit tight for about four or five months.’ (Derek, grandfather) Difficulties in organising child benefit at the time of the interview were described by Janice, who had already spent three months trying to sort it out: “I’m sick of phoning the child benefit, they’ve sent me the forms out, I’ve filled them in, I’ve explained to them, the mother’s wrote to them [to say] it’s alright to pay me [and I’ve heard] nothing” (Janice, grandmother). Chapter Four reported that many of the families had not expected the mother to be imprisoned, which had left them unprepared for the outcome of the custodial sentence and the impact that this would have on their daily lives. Exacerbating this, the findings in this section illuminate how families who had not established contact with social services ahead of the mothers’ imprisonments were struggling to gain practical and financial support from welfare agencies. Some of this may be a reflection of dwindling budgets in the welfare sector and the overstretched role of social services in England and Wales (Bulman, 2018). However, for Shelia, the lack of support stretched beyond social services and was also experienced with education and health authorities: Shelia:

‘We haven’t got anything, we’ve got absolutely no status in law to have him here.’ Natalie: ‘And how does that make you feel?’

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Shelia:

‘That makes me really angry because they don’t know what his life is, or what it’s about. I’ve had so many arguments with the health authority, the school, you name it, and I’ve had so many arguments with the social services and everybody. They don’t care. They don’t listen.’ (Shelia, grandmother)

These findings show how grandparents looking after children could be left feeling isolated and powerless as their requests for help were, at best, delayed and, at worst, unheard and unanswered. Combined with inadequate support from criminal justice agencies (see Chapter Five), the findings show how caregiving kin are systemically overlooked, forgotten and invisible, which is much like the way prisoners’ children are described in the literature (see Gordon, 2018). Therefore, if Lord Farmer’s (2019) prison-​based social workers are implemented, their role ought to include proactively contacting children’s caregivers immediately following the mother’s reception into prison, as well as offering ad hoc support during the sentence to respond to the changing needs and issues that might arise. Familial stigma Through the blemishes in their character, prisoners occupy a ‘spoiled identity’ (Goffman, 1963) and are devalued and stigmatised in society. Research has indicated that this discriminatory treatment reaches past the mother and is ascribed to family members as well (Condry, 2007a), which is sometimes known as ‘courtesy stigma’ (Goffman, 1963) or, more recently, ‘secondary stigmatisation’ (Minson, 2018a). Likewise, the caregivers interviewed in this study spoke of the painful experiences of feeling stigmatised during maternal imprisonment, and this section shows how this was interpreted to be an additional negative repercussion to manage in their family lives.

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Caregivers’ experiences of media reports

Familial stigma was often instigated by announcements of the mother’s arrest, court hearing and/​or imprisonment in local and national news reports. Echoing previous research (Boswell, 2002; Shamai and Kochal, 2008), caregivers had distressing experiences of reading reports about the mother, noting that this included personal details, such as her full name, and sometimes additional information about her maternal status, employment details or home address. Daniel was shocked that this was allowed: “The thing is, what they put in the paper, which I didn’t like, is that they put her full name, full address, in the paper! I was a bit upset about it, I felt like writing to the paper myself. I mean, can they do that?” (Daniel, [step] father). Lucy’s daughter’s picture was on the front page of the newspaper, and when asked about this, she was particularly upset about the way in which the newspaper had represented her daughter, especially as more favourable information about her character was omitted: Natalie: ‘How about the newspaper, because you said it was on the front page of the newspaper?’ Lucy: ‘It were like they were scum, it was like they were scum, I can’t, I don’t, I just said to everybody “Do not fetch the newspaper to my house ‘cause I don’t want to see it” ‘cause it had all their faces on the front page and … it didn’t mention that she’d always worked and never ever been in trouble before or anything like that … it were horrible.’ (Lucy, grandmother) Over half of the families interviewed knew of a media report about the mother’s sentence in local or national newspapers, on social media platforms and/​or on the internet. This might be a reflection of the sample as half of the mothers were serving longer-​than-​average sentences (see Chapter Two), perhaps

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making their stories seem more ‘newsworthy’. However, what emerged from these caregivers’ accounts were the painful and distressing experiences of media involvement in their families’ lives. Protecting the children from media reports

Caregivers were exceptionally protective of children, shielding them as best they could from negative media reports. The language used and the representation of the mother and her crime on media platforms were considered unnecessarily cruel and inaccurate, and caregivers were concerned about the effect on children if they were to see or read it: “It’s alright for us ‘cause we’re adults but there’s children involved as well, you know, and they don’t take their feelings into account” (Lucy, grandmother). Likewise, Claudia describes how the front page of the local newspaper labelled her daughter as a ‘killer’ despite her receiving a custodial sentence for the manslaughter of her abusive and violent partner. As the following interview extract details, Emily (Claudia’s friend) received the newspaper in the post and ran to Claudia’s house to try and stop Claudia’s grandson from reading the headline: Claudia: ‘They called her a killer, and Emily come running down, didn’t you, to stop the newspaper from coming to the house.’ Emily: ‘Yeah, they brought [the newspaper] to me and I just saw the headline straight away and I went out … the delivery man had already drove off and I were shouting [to my husband] “I’ll have to go to Claudia’s … ‘cause you don’t want baby seeing that do you?” With her picture on as well.’ (Claudia, grandmother; Emily, friend) Terry was frustrated by the negative representation of his daughter online, explaining how posts on the internet have

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an infinite lifespan and would be available for people to access in the future, including his grandson and future employers: ‘The story that I read, none of that happened, it was a load of rubbish … and her son’s going to read that, he’s going to because it’s on the internet and, you know, once it’s on the internet, it’s on the internet, it’s never coming out. So, one day he’ll Google his mum’s name and he’ll find out “Oh she’s an animal, she did that” and so, you know, it is wrong.’ (Terry, grandfather) Sometimes, news reporters would approach the families for ‘stories’ or, in Madeline and Derek’s case, national and local news reporters were stationed outside their home for a number of days following the trial. Madeline felt that this was wholly inappropriate given that their two grandchildren resided there: “It was all over the papers, there was reporters down here and two small children living here … and it was days before they would let up. It was horrible, really horrible” (Madeline, grandmother). The nuances of these negative media representations can be further appreciated when considered against the children’s human rights, especially with regard to not facing discrimination for their parents’ behaviour or status (United Nations, 1989; Minson, 2018a). It also demonstrates an added pressure for caregiving kin, who, as documented throughout this book (Chapters Three, Four and Five), are already grappling with multiple adverse challenges in response to the mother’s imprisonment. The exposure that accompanied the media reports was of particular concern to the caregivers as they felt that it led to the poor treatment of the children by some members of their communities. The impact of media reports: experiencing stigma in the community

Although caregivers worked hard to try and protect themselves and the children from discrimination, this was

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sometimes unavoidable in their local communities. Again, the stigma was attributed to the media stories. For instance, they described horrible experiences of being victimised through disparaging remarks, behaviours and attitudes from others as they went about their daily lives. Condry (2007a, 2007b) considered this form of stigma as ‘kin contamination’ as prisoners’ family members were negatively labelled because of their relationship to the lawbreaker. Shelia recalls the problems that her grandson experienced at school because of his mother: ‘[It was] in the newspapers even before she was sentenced … come to the September when she’s been convicted and it was all over the newspapers again … the papers had a picture of her, it was on the internet and everywhere … I don’t think the school wanted him there once they knew all about his Mum ‘cause he was in, like, a little private school and they just wanted him out from day one … obviously, other parents didn’t like the thought of their son going to school with, like, her son and that [and] they just made it really difficult for him, and basically he was bullied.’ (Shelia, grandmother) Derek and Madeline also experienced disapproval by members of their village, and they described how people that they had known for many years would cross the street to avoid interacting with them: Madeline: ‘It was extremely difficult for all of us really because people that we’ve known, I mean Derek was born here, people that he’d known all his life, and we’ve been married 40 years, just avoided you or….’ Derek: ‘They would actually cross the street … if you were walking down street, they would actually cross the street to go to the other side instead of

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walking along and saying “Hello” sort of thing.’ (Derek and Madeline, grandparents) Stigma had a huge impact on the way in which the families lived their daily lives. Shelia’s grandson moved schools, while Derek and Madeline often avoided going into their local village. In a similar way, Claudia was reluctant to socialise and go into her local town as people had been “nasty” following her daughter’s imprisonment (see Chapter Four). Like Condry’s (2007a, 2007b) studies, this research also found that parents of the prisoners experienced stigma at another level through the allocation of blame for the failure to produce law-​abiding citizens, known as ‘kin culpability’. Martha explained how people in her local community would either look at her disapprovingly or ascribe some of the blame and responsibility to her as a parent: “A lot of people looked at us as if to say ‘Well, you’re the parents’, you know, that’s another thing we’ve had, ‘Well, you’re the parents’, and I’ve said, ‘Yeah, we might be the parents but she’s a 20-​year-​old girl now’ ” (Martha, grandmother). The impact of media reports: experiencing stigma online

Stigma was not only experienced in person, but also happening online through social media and the internet. The caregivers were met with hostility on social media and community pages where news of the mother’s crime was publically shared and discussed. The anonymity and physical distance that posting online can bring also means that some people are more disparaging in these spaces than they might be in person. In some instances, families had decided to stop accessing the internet, or totally removed their accounts on sites like Facebook, to avoid receiving and reading discriminatory comments. In other instances, the caregivers attempted to respond to criticisms and unwarranted comments. Rebecca, for example, was angry that someone had identified her daughter on social media following

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her conviction because she and her partner were anonymised for the sake of her granddaughter: ‘It was in the paper and someone had realised that it was my daughter and put it on Facebook and put her name to it, and we had to get her page on Facebook taken down because they hadn’t named her for my granddaughter’s benefit, and so we messaged the people who put it on and said “You can have whatever feelings you have about this but the reason they have not been named is to protect a child” … and it said [their names] on a national newspaper website because somebody put it up there as well, so that was really distressing as soon as they’d gone in [to prison].’ (Rebecca, grandmother) As Rebecca suggested, this kind of attention online exacerbated the already difficult and emotionally fraught period immediately following the mother’s removal into prison, which, as Chapter Four indicated, could be experienced as bereavement. The findings here are unlikely to be a local or national phenomenon, but likely shared by the children and families of prisoners across the globe. With the rise of technology and the plethora of social media and online platforms available, there are likely more families experiencing secondary stigmatisation online. Fear and management of stigma

Given their experiences of stigma in the media, in their local communities and online, caregivers were vigilant about further negative judgements that might arise from others. Lucy feared how other parents might stop their children from playing with her six-​year-​old daughter at school if and when they found out her eldest daughter was in prison: “I was even frightened that other mums wouldn’t want their little girls to play with my daughter. It’s just like the ripple effect: you chuck a stone in a pond and it goes on and on”

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(Lucy, grandmother). In a similar way, Rebecca talked about the challenges of explaining the situation to people ‘outside’, particularly to people who do not know the family and who cannot understand or believe that they are ‘good’ people despite the conviction: “It’s been quite traumatic really, trying to convince people that you’re a good person … but like I’ve said to my daughter, ‘The people who know you and know us as a family, they understand’, but, sadly, the outside don’t” (Rebecca, grandmother). These narratives indicate how one-​dimensional social perceptions of ‘prisoners’ could shape the way in which their families were treated, fostering feelings of stigma and difference. What also emerged from the caregivers’ accounts were the different strategies employed to manage the representation of their families to people ‘outside’ their families. Drawing on Morgan’s (1999) theoretical lens, ‘family practices’ are actively renegotiated and responsive to the given circumstances. Likewise, caregivers carefully managed possible routes of stigma through the way in which they were ‘doing’ family activities and describing members of their family. Ava was acutely aware that her daughter’s actions may be attributed to her upbringing, and specifically to her role as a mother. As discussed previously, family blaming, especially ‘kin culpability’ (Condry, 2007b), can be experienced by grandparent-​caregivers. Her account shows how she was attempting to manage descriptions of her own identity by carefully explaining that her daughter’s actions were not a reflection of her mothering abilities: ‘I was devastated. I’ve never taken drugs, I’ve never, I don’t even drink because I can’t metabolise alcohol, I have one drink and I go to sleep, it’s ridiculous, you know, and I’ve always tried to instil in her a good sort of sense of values of what’s right and what’s wrong and, I mean, when I sort of found out, it was hard because, I mean, she’s never seen people in that situation or had a parent who’s been drunk or drugged.’ (Ava, grandmother)

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Similarly, some descriptions of the mother were also carefully managed, as can be seen in the following interview extract between Lucy and Kristen, who were representing the mother as a ‘good’ mother: Lucy:

‘She’d always worked, she’d always been a good girl, always went to school, never been in trouble.’ Kristen: ‘Brilliant Mum….’ Lucy: ‘Or anything like that, oh fabulous Mum.’ (Lucy, grandmother; Kristen, cousin) Goffman (1963) has called this behaviour the ‘passing as normal’ strategy, which is an approach used by stigmatised individuals in society to reduce stigma by carefully representing an acceptable identity (Rogers, 2000; Hughey, 2012). It is perhaps required more during discussions of motherhood given the pervasive ‘good mothering’ expectations placed on women in dominant, socially prescriptive expectations of this identity (Baldwin, 2015). However, another strategy used by families to reduce stigma was selective disclosure (Hughey, 2012), in which the caregivers decided not to tell the children the truth about their mother’s imprisonment (see Chapter Four). Miriam explains how this decision was made because she feared that her eldest granddaughter would tell everyone at nursery, which would lead to them being treated differently: ‘She’d go into school and say “My mummy’s in prison” and she’d think that was fine, and I don’t want that for her, people would be saying [things] and talking behind her back and … they don’t know why she’s [in prison] or the circumstances, and you and I know that she would be tarred with a brush.’ (Miriam, grandmother) Researchers in the US suggested that the decision not to disclose the imprisonment to children by the mothers themselves

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(Gilham, 2012) and the families (Mignon and Ransford, 2012) was because they were ashamed and embarrassed. By contrast, Miriam’s decision was more about protecting the children. A slightly different non-​disclosure tactic was adopted by Ava through the ruse of a ‘cover-​up story’ (Hughey, 2012), which she similarly used to guard against any negativity or stigma at her granddaughter’s nursery, deciding to tell the staff that the mother was unwell, rather than informing them of her imprisonment: “I said that I would be bringing her and picking her up [from nursery and] I went and said ‘Look, her Mum’s not well’ because I  didn’t want to discuss family business with them for the children’s sake” (Ava, grandmother). There was a clear sense that caregivers were suspicious and protective of their family identity following maternal imprisonment, and adopted a range of strategies to manage and mitigate possible stigma. The demarcation separating those ‘outside’ the family was of particular interest, which parallels Chapter Three and the identification of collective caregiving practices within social and family networks. Yet, the distance created by potential and actual discrimination will only contribute to their detachment from, and invisibility within, society. Experiencing stigma at the prison

It was particularly concerning to learn that despite their best attempts to alleviate stigma in their local communities, caregivers also felt devalued when visiting the mother in prison. Chapter Five found that caregiving kin in all 15 families had contact with the imprisoned mother via visits, though a closer look at their accounts highlight how some of this was marked by negative search experiences. Daniel explains how there should be a distinction in how visitors are treated by officers because they, unlike the mothers, were not convicted prisoners: Daniel:

‘You get treated like you’re the criminal as well, do you know what I mean?’

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Natalie: ‘What makes you feel like you’re being treated like a prisoner?’ Daniel: ‘I don’t know, it’s just the way they are sometimes, the officers. I mean, some of the officers are really nice, and some of them aren’t, and it’s just the attitude of them sometimes.’ (Daniel, [step]father) There was agreement that the searching processes were heavily shaped by the officers on duty, and as Daniel indicates, some staff members seemed pleasant, while others were less so. This may be explained by a previous commentary on prison visitation (Broadhead, 2002), which found that visits were perceived as a nuisance for officers because they interfere with the prison regime and can threaten aspects of prison security. Acknowledging the ‘liminal space’ (Codd, 2008) of the prison visit, the caregivers in this study were aware of the necessity of the security process while, at the same time, being dissatisfied with assuming a prisoner-​like identity: “It’s not a pleasurable experience. I mean, I appreciate that that’s what they have to do but it’s certainly not a pleasant experience … I felt a bit like a prisoner myself ” (Madeline, grandmother). Potentially, the caregivers’ negative experiences of the searching procedures could overshadow the visiting experience by exacerbating an already lengthy, tense and emotional process (see Chapter Five). This could not only impact the quality of the visit with a mother, but also influence a caregiver’s willingness to visit (Snyder, 2009) and enable mother–​child relationships, which is critical given their ‘gatekeeping’ role (Tasca, 2016). However, and in a very different way, other caregivers were not perturbed by the search procedures. Shelia described it much like “airport security”, while Pita explains how families might expect to be tarred with the same brush as the prisoners as this is linked to keeping the prison safe: ‘It’s a standard process; it’s prison, you know? It’s the safety of the staff who are working, it’s in the best interests and

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the safety of the prisoners here as well because they have this authority and some hard-​core criminals, you might say, [and] once you get the title of prisoner, then people will rub you with the same stick and so that’s the rule of the box.’ (Pita, father) Throughout this section, the diverse and multiple ways in which stigma was experienced, feared and managed by caregivers in this study were presented. Although there has been more emphasis and awareness of prisoners’ family ties in policy documents (Farmer, 2017, 2019; MoJ and HMPPS, 2019a), it is important not to forget how family members feel excluded and isolated in their communities –​virtual and actual –​and how this can be exacerbated by media reports and perpetuated through their treatment during prison visits. Expectations for release So far, this book has focused on caregivers’ experiences during the mother’s imprisonment, but as all the mothers were serving determinate2 sentences, these experiences were time sensitive. Therefore, caregivers were asked to reflect on their future, specifically, what (if any) plans or expectations they had made for the mother’s release. Previous research suggests that returning to the family home (also known as re-​entry in the US) can bring about new challenges for family members as they go through another period of transition and renegotiation (O’Neill, 2015 PRT, 2018). Although this study did not capture the caregivers’ experiences after release, it did ask them to think about this process and consider their feelings and arrangements for this eventuality. This received a mixed reaction, with many accounts underscored with uncertainty and anxiety, while others revealed optimism and excitement for a new chapter in their lives.

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Uncertainties surrounding the mother’s release date

Most children had moved into the caregivers’ homes following the mothers’ reception into prison but Chapter Four identified how the duration of this rearrangement was largely unclear. Despite the sentence being disclosed at court during sentencing, in England and Wales, prisoners may be eligible for HDC (or ‘tag’ as it is more commonly known) around halfway into their sentence. Subject to their behaviour and conditions, HDC allows prisoners to serve the remainder of their sentence in the community under probation. Around half of the mothers knew the date that they could be eligible for HDC, while half did not. As Lucy explains, the uncertainty around her daughter’s HDC release was frustrating and impractical as they felt that they were unable to make any plans. She suggests how failing to be given an end date was an additional punishment for everyone: Lucy:

‘They’ve not given us a date, so it’s been, they did say December 24th and then they said there was a chance she could get tagged in November, but apart from that, we just don’t know.’ Natalie: ‘And how does that make you feel?’ Lucy: ‘I don’t know, you just get up every day and just think “Am I going to find out something today?” And it’s just so frustrating, you can’t make no plans and everything’s just stood still until she comes home … but if we could just see the date, then we could see the light at the end of the tunnel, like, actually, a date for when she’s coming home … it’s people’s lives, it’s not only punishing her, it’s punishing everybody else as well, it’s just totally unnecessary.’ (Lucy, grandmother) Mirroring these sentiments, Malcolm also considers the ambiguity around the HDC date for his daughter and talks

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about the distress that this can cause for both prisoners and their families: ‘It builds her hopes up and she’s sitting there thinking, “I’m home in a few days. I’m home in a few days” and what happens if she don’t get it? Her world’s going to fall apart ‘cause she’ll have stay there another three months, you know … they ain’t going to know until the split second before it’s going to happen, which I think is wrong, it’s not fair on the family on the outside and I don’t think it’s fair on the prisoner either … I know it’s her fault she’s in there, but I’m just saying it could be made a lot easier with the help they receive and things being sorted out so we would know then when she’s coming out or not and we could know to chase her job, and get her job sorted out, you know, get her room all ready, you know, everything else what we need to put in place.’ (Malcolm, grandfather) As Malcolm explains, approval of HDC usually takes place in the week before the possible release, and so even in the case when the date is known, there remains considerable uncertainty about whether or not this will happen. The distress caused to caregivers by the uncertainty of HDC is further evidence that the punishment that accompanies maternal imprisonment is experienced within and across the family in the form of a ‘family sentence’. Additionally, in the families where the mother was approaching her release date, the caregivers reflected on the practicalities of her leaving prison. Specifically, their accounts drew attention to the limited information that they had regarding release procedures and how and when to collect her from the prison: ‘I don’t actually know what happens when they’re released. She just said, “We’ll probably be let out about eight in the morning to half past eight, so you just have to be here.” ’ (Rebecca, grandmother)

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‘I don’t know when they will release her … I  don’t know when they release them, whether it’s a Friday or a Monday or a Wednesday or when it is that they release them.’ (Daniel, [step]father) The caregivers’ narratives reveal how HDC and release processes have far-​reaching and adverse implications on the lives of the mothers and families, who are also anxiously waiting to hear the outcome of decisions. Over 15 years ago, a government report (SEU, 2002) recommended that families ought to be included in sentence planning and release procedures, and yet these findings show that this is still not happening. Instead, the findings expose the additional stress that these uncertainties place upon caregiving relatives, and highlight how caregiving relatives are overlooked and excluded in crucial decisions and processes that directly affect their lives. This is in spite of policy rhetoric focusing on the crucial role that families play as a ‘resettlement agency’ (HMIP, 2016; Farmer, 2017; MoJ and HMPPS, 2019a). Anxieties about the changes accompanying the mother’s release

Caregivers spoke openly about their fears regarding the possible impact that incarceration might have emotionally and psychologically inflicted on the mother. As we have seen in earlier chapters in this book, the caregivers in this study had close relationships with the mothers and so, unsurprisingly, much concern was directed towards her well-​being post-​release. Both Lucy and Daniel were worried that prison might have changed the mother, and were unsure how this might affect her readjustment back into society: ‘I wonder, is it going to have affected her, being in there? Is she still going to come out, is she still going to be, my daughter? Or, is going to have changed her? I just don’t know.’ (Lucy, grandmother)

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‘I couldn’t tell you what’s going to happen, I don’t know what sort of person she’s going to come out, whether she’s going to come out the same person, whether she’s going to come out a totally different person. I just, I don’t know.’ (Daniel, [step]father) Janice and Lorraine were worried about how the mother would cope as she returned to a life completely different to the one she left: Lorraine: ‘We will need to support her in getting her own tenancy again because she’s lost her house.’ Janice: ‘She’s lost her job, her car, her house.’ Lorraine: ‘So, it’s, like, all her stuff; it’s like starting all over again for her.’ (Lorraine, friend; Janice, grandmother) As anticipated by these caregivers, research has shown how even short prison sentences can have long and enduring harms for mothers separated from children (Baldwin and Epstein, 2017; Masson, 2019). Further research is needed to explore how these changes are experienced and interpreted by caregivers after the mother’s release. However, in this study, caregivers were encouraged to consider what they imagined the release would mean for the children and their living arrangements once the mother was released. When the children had lived with the mother before the sentence, the caregivers intended that they would return to her care. Many envisaged a transition period, where the children would gradually be returned to their mother to ease the adjustments and to account for how ‘strange’ it may seem at first: Madeline: ‘I think it might be a bit strange for everybody, for us as well.’ Derek: ‘Well, I  don’t know if they’ll go on a permanent basis to start off. Well, they’ll probably

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go a couple of days and then come back.’ (Madeline and Derek, grandparents) The findings from this study have illustrated how the caregivers had adapted their daily lives, routines and identities to look after the children, and, in doing so, had forged strong relationships with them. While some were looking forward to continuing their relationships at more of a distance, others acknowledged how the children’s return to their mothers would be emotionally challenging as they had become accustomed to seeing them every day and looking after them: “Well, to be totally honest, me and my husband will be lost … I don’t know, it’s going to be a bit sad, I’ll miss them” (Shannon, grandmother). Another anticipated change for caregivers was awareness that the mother might not return to the same geographical area out of fear of stigma. Earlier in the chapter, the extent and nature of the discriminatory treatment that the families experienced through their connection to the mother were discussed, and they anticipated similar treatment towards the mother on her return to the community: “I think, eventually, she wants to move away. I  think, because it’s happened here, she thinks people aren’t going to like her and will judge her” (Claudia, grandmother). As Claudia explains, her daughter was unsure whether she would move back to her hometown on release because she feared judgement in the local community as that was where her crime took place. However, if the mother moved to a different town or city and resumed the care of her children, it is possible that many of the grandparent-​child relationships could change or suffer as a result. Starting a new chapter

Although there was a sense of uncertainty and anxiety about the mother’s release, it was also clear that family members were keen to have her return home. In particular, the caregivers talked about the positive impact that this would

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have on the children as they were excited for their mother’s release: ‘I know that in four, five or even six weeks, I know, and the kids know, that she’s coming home, so I think that’s our focus point, we know that she’s coming home and, honestly, they just can’t wait!’ (Daniel, [step]father) ‘I can’t wait to see her little face when she sees her mum home.’ (Lucy, grandmother) There was also a lot of optimism when discussing future plans. Pita talks about starting a new chapter and moving forward without dwelling on the more difficult time that they lived through while his wife was in prison: Natalie: Pita:

‘What are you expecting when she gets released?’ ‘We will start a new chapter in our life, one that we can close the door on this chapter. We don’t want to recall memories or things about this time, I don’t want to make her go through any of those things … we can carry on with our journey after that.’ (Pita, father)

Likewise, Kevin was confident that despite the shock of readjusting to his partner being home, they would continue being the family that they were before. Towards the end of the interview, he also indicated their plans to have another child together: ‘I know what me and her are like as a couple. I wouldn’t be doing all this if I thought it was just going to, it’s for her, but it’s going to be a big shock, obviously, when she comes back home, I’ll just carry on, we’ll just carry on where we left off really … we’ve even talked about having another baby when she gets out so that our [biological]

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son has a little brother or sister, then there’ll be a little gang, and so that’s our plan. Yeah, we’ve got it pretty much worked out.’ (Kevin, [step]father) It is unknown whether the expectation matched the reality of release, but it is clear that despite the strain and struggle of being separated from the mother, there was still a glimmer of hope for a happier time in the future. This was likely found in the caregivers’ narratives because of their strong and close relationship to the mother and their unyielding motivation to support the mother, the children and one another through the challenges presented during maternal imprisonment. Summary The findings in this study indicate how legal guardianship was uncertain for eight grandparent-​caregivers in this study. Opportunities to temporarily reassign guardianship were not provided in court proceedings, and despite attempts to gain confirmation of their caregiving status, for instance, through a RO, this was not straightforward or financially viable. Confusion arose as caregivers had (incorrectly) anticipated that the removal of the mother, and primary carer to the children, would automatically involve statutory agencies. The expectation that this would happen, along with the evidence that caregivers had self-​referred to social services, indicates the gravity of the need and struggles experienced by these caregivers, to an extent outweighing the fear of involving welfare agencies in their family life that is commonly found in the literature (see Brooks-​Gordon and Bainham, 2004; Selwyn et  al, 2013). The lack of support, information and guidance available to caregiving kin –​automatically and when requested –​shows how their social status is overlooked and disenfranchised in current practices. It is hoped that Lord Farmer’s (2019) recommendation of a prison-​based social worker could alleviate some of these issues.

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Familial stigma, akin to Goffman’s (1963) ‘courtesy stigma’, was prevalent in the accounts of the caregivers. Building on previous research (Condry, 2007a), the findings showed how this was often instigated by local and national media reports, and caregivers spoke of painful experiences of feeling devalued and/​or isolated in their local communities and online. Most notably, they were concerned about repercussions on the children in their care, and several strategies were adopted to manage potential opportunities for negative representations of their families to occur, for instance, at the children’s nursery. Echoing the literature (Codd, 2008), many described prison visiting environments as uncomfortable. Taken together, these experiences provide evidence for the concept of a ‘family sentence’ as it is clear that the mother’s imprisonment had profound and adverse repercussions for relatives. By caregivers’ own accounts, expectations regarding release were mixed. They revealed how the unknown release date was frustrating and distressing not only for the mother, but also for the families outside. As well as uncertainties about HDC (tagging), the caregivers were concerned about the impact of prison on the mother, as well as the practical and emotional aspects of readjusting their family practices and relationships to accommodate her return. By contrast, there was also a sense of excitement and optimism for a new chapter in their lives, especially on behalf of the children. Yet, the ongoing exclusion of families in sentence and release planning (SEU, 2002) hinders their opportunities to make preparations for the mother’s return, and undermines the dominant penal and policy rhetoric that supposedly supports the family as a ‘resettlement agency’ (MoJ and HMPPS, 2019a). Notes 1 2

ROs have since been replaced by Child Arrangement Orders. Determinate sentences have a fixed length of time (for example, 12  months), whereas indeterminate sentences do not have a specific duration. For more information, see: https://​www.gov.uk/​types-​of-​prison-​ sentence/​indeterminate-​prison-​sentences-​no-​fixed-​length-​of-​time

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SEVEN Kin caregiving: occupying a disenfranchised status while serving the family sentence

Introduction Throughout this book, the lived experiences of relatives and friends (caregiving kin) looking after the children of female prisoners have been examined. Their honest accounts of their everyday lives during maternal imprisonment have contributed new insights that will be reviewed in this chapter. Importantly, listening to caregivers has developed our conceptual understanding of the ways in which the ‘family sentence’ is served from a ‘disenfranchised social status’. It is crucial to incorporate the perspectives of caregivers into policy and practice in order to facilitate a greater inclusion and response to the challenges they experience. To achieve this, recommendations are proposed towards the end of this chapter after the key findings from the study are discussed.

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What has been learned about the family sentence? The literature talks about imprisonment having ‘collateral’ and ‘unintended’ consequences for children and families (Jardine, 2018), and this study intended to shed light on the experiences of maternal imprisonment and family life from the caregiver’s perspective. In particular, the first part of this chapter shows how applying Morgan’s (1999) theoretical lens of ‘family practices’ has improved our understanding of the scope and nature of the ‘family sentence’. This concept has been developed throughout the book to draw attention to the many ways in which the punishment associated with the mother’s imprisonment has significant implications for the lives and experiences of caregivers and the wider family. Doing caregiving

Children were looked after by grandparents and female relatives and friends, and aside from the three (step)father-​caregivers in the sample, participants were all maternal kin. Other academics have found that researching prisoners’ families is a gendered terrain as it is generally women who visit and support their incarcerated relatives (Codd, 2002, 2008; Condry, 2007a, 2007b) and look after prisoners’ children (Caddle and Crisp, 1997; Raikes, 2016). Expanding on this, it is likely that the ‘family sentence’ experienced during maternal imprisonment may disproportionately impact relatives on the mother’s side of the family, rather than paternal relatives. Relatedly, the findings indicate the importance of considering life before the mother was removed and detained. All the imprisoned mothers were actively involved in their children’s lives prior to prison and most of them were primary caregivers. As the literature suggests (Hardwick, 2012; Carlen, 2002; Baldwin, 2015), it is these caregiving and familial roles that women occupy that change the nature of a prison sentence for a mother. This is because the imprisonment transfers the

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full-​time child-​raising responsibilities to relatives as opportunities to continue mothering in prison are thwarted by restrictive prison rules and processes. However, it was apparent that the caregiving kin in this study had woefully underestimated the realities of this role change in their daily lives. Interestingly, this was found regardless of whether children resided with them prior to the sentence. Substantial changes to everyday domestic tasks –​from additional ironing responsibilities and school pick-​ups, to bedtime teething issues –​were the activities that signalled this role and identity change. Meanwhile, their accounts drew attention to other renegotiations, including their engagement in social activities, participation in paid work and the organisation of the mother’s affairs, with significant financial implications for all involved. In using Morgan’s (1999) theoretical tool, it was clear how family members emphasised the importance of ‘doing’ family activities as a means to respond to their changed and challenging family circumstances. By detailing these renegotiations, they were also more fully able to comprehend their own family constructions and the impact that these changes had inflicted on their lives. There was a strong sense that children should remain in the care of the family during the mother’s imprisonment. Aligning with previous research (Macintosh et al, 2006), this was to prevent children being taken into social care and to ensure that mother–​child contact was facilitated. It follows that research from the US has identified caregivers as ‘gatekeepers’ (Tasca et al, 2016) and highlighted the significance of the mother–​ caregiver relationship for continued contact. Likewise, drawing on Finch and Mason’s (1993) research on family obligations, the positive nature and quality of the past relationship between mothers and caregivers in this study may have been a key factor that shaped decisions to care for the children. All caregiving kin had a close relationship with the imprisoned mother –​as parent, partner or friend –​and were motivated to remain in contact with her. This was also the mother’s first sentence in nearly all families, and previous research has indicated

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that family ties become more strained in the event of multiple convictions (Glick and Neto, 1977; Enos, 2001; Booth, 2017b). These obligations stretched to all children, including those who would later move into the prison to be housed on the MBU. Although more research is required to explore this context further, the accounts of two relatives with first-​hand experience of MBUs suggested a motivation to maintain both their own and sibling relationships. The findings have significance for the theoretical application of Morgan’s theory as the focus on actions and activities in the caregivers’ discourse illuminates how these practices were strongly intertwined with their own biographies and self-​perceptions of their family relationships and obligations. It also shows how the use of a sociological theory to understand an area previously researched by criminologists has advanced our understanding of family life during maternal imprisonment. Collective caregiving practices

Following Codd’s (2008) proposal that families ‘rally around’ one another during the imprisonment of a loved one, the examination of caregiving practices in this study indicated a joint response to the mother’s imprisonment among family members and friends. Approaching the research from a family-​ centred perspective included an exploration of practices beyond the household and incorporated roles and responsibilities assumed by various family members, friends and the children’s fathers. Although a distinction based on the children’s domestic circumstances between ‘caregivers’ and ‘primary kin caregivers’ was made (see Chapter Two), it is likely that had the research focused only on the lives and experiences of the latter, then the findings would likely perpetuate the misconception that all caregiving practices are assumed by one or two people (for example, Caddle and Crisp, 1997). Instead, the adoption of the more fluid definitions of ‘caregiver’ that were interpreted and self-​defined by families themselves, alongside an openness

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to conduct joint interviews, was the key to understanding and appreciating the collective caregiving practices by, and within, families following a mother’s imprisonment. In doing so, it was apparent that the ‘family sentence’ extends beyond the dyadic (mother-​child) and triadic (mother-​child-​caregiver) relationships, reaching towards family members and friends engaged in –​or exposed to –​caregiving practices during a mother’s sentence. As most caregiving kin were grandparents and female relatives, the study identified other ‘doubly invisible’ children in their families. This comprised the caregivers’ own children or other grandchildren, who experienced serious upheavals in their daily lives and relationships and could often feel jealous as a result of feeling displaced by the mother’s children. For caregivers, issues arose in balancing time, financial resources and care between different children. Of critical concern is that these ‘doubly invisible’ children are not counted or considered in estimates that attempt to gauge the number of children affected by maternal imprisonment. It is therefore highly possible that substantially more than 17,000 children (Crest Advisory, 2019) experience severe disruptions and disadvantages as a result of a mother’s custodial sentence every year in England and Wales. Across the globe, this might mean millions more children impacted by maternal imprisonment as estimates suggest that, in Europe alone, there are more than 2 million children of prisoners already (Noffke, 2017). Following Morgan’s (1999) definitions of family practices, the smaller representation of children’s fathers as participants in this study was not seen as indicative of their absence in the children’s lives. Statistics indicate that a smaller proportion (10 per cent) of men care for their children during maternal imprisonment (Caddle and Crisp, 1997); correspondingly, there has been little investigation of their experiences (Flynn, 2011). To respond to this, the interviews asked about the children’s biological and social (step)fathers, and their involvement in the children’s lives. Granted, information was mostly

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garnered from the perspectives of the maternal caregiving kin but it shed light on the possible role and responsibilities that fathers occupy. This exploration was something that the theoretical framework invited (Morgan, 1999) as when practices are considered as dynamic and negotiated, there is recognition that this includes activities and relationships outside the household. By doing this, the findings showed how fathers (biological and social) may be more likely to assume an active caregiving role during the mother’s sentence when in an intimate relationship with the mother, and/​or when they had already been actively involved in caregiving before the conviction. These new findings illuminate the identity of the fathers that are also likely to be serving the ‘family sentence’ through their continued involvement in their children’s lives. They may also help future researchers seeking to recruit and conduct research solely with fathers, and can inform policy and practice about some of the likely family constructions during maternal imprisonment. Taken together, the nuances of family life observed in the research findings indicate how it might be difficult to characterise and fully comprehend the myriad diverse family dynamics and practices if not collected using qualitative methods that enable individuals to take ownership over who constitutes their ‘family’ (Jardine, 2018; Masson and Booth, 2018). There are clear benefits of assuming a family-​centred approach as the lens provided by Morgan’s (1999) theory of family practices has provided original insights into the ways in which families construct, manage and understand their roles and responsibilities, as well as the far-​reaching impact of the family sentence within social networks. What has been learned about caregivers’ disenfranchised social status? So far, the focus on the ‘family sentence’ in this chapter has remained with the caregiving kin and their family networks.

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While this has improved our understanding of family constructions and caregiving practices during maternal imprisonment, this life event is not viewed as a socially significant loss (Arditti, 2016). Although more recent policy has seemingly supported prisoners’ family ties (Home Office, 2004; MoJ and HMPPS, 2019a), the literature has highlighted many barriers to and inadequacies of the support available to families (Light and Campbell, 2007; Codd, 2008; Raikes, 2016), as well as of the prison processes that shape family contact (HMIP, 2016). To build on this, the next section looks at these different areas from the caregivers’ perspectives to determine what contribution they make to our understanding of their ‘disenfranchised social status’. Court experiences: separation and exclusion

Most caregivers believed the mother to be innocent or to have committed a crime that was not serious enough to warrant a custodial sentence. This is reflected in the length of the sentences received as seven mothers were expected to spend less than 12 months in prison. As with previous research (Masson, 2019), these perceptions were bolstered by legal professionals who had incorrectly advised that prison was an unlikely outcome owing to factors that could mitigate a custodial sentence, such as the mothers’ primary caregiving status. However, the literature frequently explains that women receive different –​ and often harsher –​treatment at court because it is not just their offence that is on trial, but their capacity as women –​as wives, mothers and daughters (Carlen, 2002; Baldwin, 2015). Likewise, the findings here point towards previous research that found an inconsistent use of mitigation for mothers in court (Epstein, 2012; Minson, 2014). These inadequate sentencing practices are damaging not only for mothers (Baldwin, 2015; Masson, 2019) and children (Minson, 2018a), but also for caregivers, who, as this study revealed, were left grappling

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with the emotional and practical ramifications of the mother being unexpectedly taken into custody. Caregivers were astounded that there were no opportunities to talk to the mother in order to organise, or confirm, childcare arrangements before she was detained. Added to this, they did not know where to turn for information, support or guidance. This may not only be a reflection of their unfamiliarity with criminal justice processes because, for most, it was the mother’s first sentence, but also suggest a lack of support for families at the point of separation. Similar problems were observed in previous research with prisoners’ families in Scotland (Loucks, 2005), but of critical concern is that this occurred within a family where the mother was breastfeeding and where several other mothers had been a primary caregiver. There is some awareness of the ways in which gendered characteristics differentiate the needs and circumstances of mothers in sentencing decisions (Sentencing Advisory Panel, 2009; PRT, 2015). Building on this, the new evidence from this study indicates how these practices also overlook the needs and positionality of caregiving kin, despite these decisions directly –​and significantly –​affecting their lives. These practices would appear to have further consequences for families’ ability to manage the emotions that accompanied the separation as it was apparent that the lack of preparation for this outcome meant that this loss was experienced as akin to bereavement. Previous research has similarly explained how the loss of a parent to prison can be experienced as akin to death for children (Bockneck et  al, 2009; Turanovic et  al, 2012). Trying to reframe the mother’s absence from their physical lives while remaining emotionally present is an ‘ambiguous loss’ (Boss, 2016) that was challenging to comprehend and manage. A particular concern for caregivers was the responsibility of explaining the mother’s whereabouts to the children. The literature strongly supports honesty and openness with children at the earliest opportunity (PACT, no date; Light and Campbell, 2007). As custody was not considered a likely

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outcome, this responsibility fell to caregiving kin, who found this profoundly emotional and difficult to navigate. Often, this news had to be delivered with relatively short notice, for example, when collecting children from nursery or school, and while trying to consider the best interests of family members based on the children’s age, mother’s sentence length and potential for stigma. None of the caregivers in this study had support with this process. The findings from this study show that the exclusion that caregivers experienced in court and at the point of separation is hugely problematic. It is unnecessarily painful and impractical given that they were at the crux of the family in the aftermath of the mother’s imprisonment: telling the children and assuming care for them, while organising the mother’s affairs and trying to re-​establish contact. Taken together, these practices ignore the crucial role and responsibilities assumed by caregiving kin, situating them in a potentially vulnerable, isolated and ‘disenfranchised’ position. Dissociation from formal support

For grandparent-​caregivers in eight families, exclusion from these court practices was a particular area of concern as they had incorrectly anticipated that the identification of children would automatically involve social welfare agencies. Instead, they experienced role ambiguity as their ‘informal’ caregiving status did not include legal guardianship of the children (see Chapter Six). Previous research has hinted at the lack of support that grandmother-​caregivers receive (Raikes, 2016). The caregivers’ accounts in this study indicate how this dissociation is more systemic. For instance, while the needs and welfare of the children being looked after by caregiving kin in this study were being met, many had concerns about children who might not be as fortunate. Owing to the lack of recognition of the children of prisoners in criminal justice processes and welfare agencies, some vulnerable children may fall through

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the cracks. Previously, a cross-​departmental review (MoJ and DCSF, 2007: 17) proposed that a parent’s imprisonment should ‘trigger a process which enables the secure sharing of relevant information between agencies, and systematic assessment and support of the child’. This study shows that there had been insufficient development in this area, though Lord Farmer’s (2019) recommendation for prison-​based social workers could, if properly executed, go some way in responding to these issues. Another systemic failure occurs through the lack of recognition of the impact that the imprisonment has on caregiving kin. Usually, the arrival of a new child or children into the family through birth or adoption warrants time off from work through parental leave policies, while the death of a loved one entitles individuals to compassionate leave. This shows how these life-​changing events have social validation:  they are recognised and accepted within policy and society more widely. Yet, no such arrangements or facilities are in place for the similar life-​changing circumstances that families must navigate following a mother’s imprisonment. From the findings of this study, it is not clear whether having social services automatically involved would be a help or hindrance to families, especially as so many had explained how they had been motivated to look after children to prevent them from being taken into social care. This chimes with previous research in which mothers and families were fearful of statutory involvement (Brooks-​Gordon and Bainham, 2004). However, the extent to which three caregivers felt that they were struggling with their new family circumstances can be seen through their self-​referral to social services. Rather than being met with support and advice, these caregivers had their requests either refused or ignored. Realistically, this contact could provide an important opportunity to remove some of the isolation felt and to signpost families to provisions both locally (for example, community-​based initiatives like Children Heard and Seen1) and nationally (for example, the Prisoners’ Families Helpline2).

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Discussions about the dissociation of caregiving kin from formal support should also consider that without these family members assuming the care of female prisoners’ children, it is likely that many of these children would have become the responsibility of the state. Social services could end up looking after and financing the children’s statutory care costs for a large proportion of the estimated 17,000 children experiencing maternal imprisonment every year (Howards League for Penal Reform, 2011). Temporary foster care costs around £634 per child per week3 (Narey and Owers, 2018), so it is clear that the caregivers are saving the government a substantial sum of money and resources every year. It is surprising, then, that more support is not made available to children and families in kinship care arrangements (Selwyn et al, 2013). In particular, the role ambiguity associated with this caregiving arrangement –​which creates challenges in everyday settings, such as in medical environments for eight grandparent-​ caregivers –​makes it all the more unreasonable that there was limited support for primary kin caregivers hoping to clarify their temporary guardianship via an RO. Awareness of the challenges that imprisonment brings for families has been incorporated into training programmes, such as Hidden Sentence Training.4 This course is aimed at practitioners in voluntary organisations, schools and social services. However, the caregivers’ accounts indicate this is not yet having the far-​reaching impact required. In the climate of increased prison populations across the globe, pressure for families to assume the care of female prisoners’ children will likely increase, and the findings would appear to indicate that there is a lack of recognition and resources on the part of formal agencies to respond to this. Inadequate financial support

The additional financial burden of caregiving was an issue raised by caregivers. Loss of the mother’s earnings and welfare

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claims, material costs (such as clothing and feeding the children), and the additional money needed to sustain contact with the mother were all problematic factors. Although similar issues were identified in research on paternal imprisonment (Christian et al, 2006; Losel et al, 2012), this study provides deeper insights into the specific issues facing families during maternal imprisonment. For instance, the findings point towards two reasons why age is important in these financial considerations when a mother is imprisoned. First, the children’s age requires specific attention because carers were more likely to leave work when the children were younger and pre-​school, primarily because of the high cost of external childcare. Yet, half of all women’s prisons serving England and Wales have MBUs that can house young children (up to two years old) with their mothers (NOMS, 2011c). Although there are clear guidelines informing decisions to grant an MBU place, it does bring into question why there were delays in moving three eligible children to the care of their mothers in prison in this study (see Chapter Five). By ensuring that there are ample provisions of prison MBUs, or effective schemes that divert mothers from going into prison (for example, Corston, 2007), some of the financial burden placed on the family may be reduced, allowing carers to remain in employment. Likewise, these delays had serious implications for wider family members, who were fraught with worry about the mother–​child bond and had assumed temporary care of the children under the impression that this would be transferred back to the mother soon. Second, as grandparents had assumed a large proportion of the care in this study, their narratives indicated age-​related concerns about leaving paid work for childcare purposes because they were nearing retirement. However, children whose fathers are in prison tend to remain in the care of their mothers (Dodd and Hunter, 1992), who are unlikely to share the same pressing concerns around future earning capacity and retirement funds (Selwyn et  al, 2013; Raikes,

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2016). Also, because many mothers had been primary carers prior to their imprisonment, caregivers experienced difficulties when trying to transfer child benefit payments into their name. Therefore, despite a wealth of research highlighting the financial issues during paternal imprisonment, these findings suggest that families experience different challenges during maternal imprisonment. Given these circumstances, the need for financial support through formal channels may be all the more necessary. Yet, the only available provision is the APVS. However, only three families knew about APVS, and only one of them was accessing these funds. This suggests that most caregivers were not aware of this scheme or felt that the process was too long-​winded, which is in agreement with the findings of the Prison Reform Trust (PRT, 2018). The inadequate financial support from formal agencies may well explain why a key component of collective caregiving practices within families was the sharing of money and material goods. However, this collegiality in family networks also resulted in more relatives being negatively impacted by the mother’s imprisonment. There is consequently a need for greater opportunities to share financial resources with families struggling to manage the costs associated with maternal imprisonment. Issues maintaining contact

Having contact was an important way for families to continue doing ‘family practices’ (Morgan, 1999). Likewise, research from the US showed how families often wanted to stay in touch during a mother’s imprisonment (Barnes and Cunningham-​ Stringer, 2014; Tasca et al, 2016) and similarly found that the prison institution heavily shaped this contact (Arditti et  al, 2003; Christian, 2005). Sharing information with relatives at the earliest opportunity has been recommended to address this (Loucks, 2005). On the contrary, issues with locating information about reconnecting with the mother in the first days and

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weeks of her sentence (for example, by getting property to her or sorting out her personal affairs) and in re-​establishing contact were pervasive. Findings from this study indicate that the provision of reception telephone calls was inadequate, inconsistent and not delivered within the first 24 hours in accordance with Prison Service Instruction (PSI) 49/​2011 (NOMS, 2011b). This meant not only that important opportunities for families to discuss childcare arrangements were missed, but also that information about visitation and the prison were not relayed, which further delayed future contact. This contradicts the sentiments in Prison Service Order (PSO) 4800 (NOMS, 2008) that guided practices at the time of the research, which highlighted the importance of a reception phone call for mothers, especially for organising childcare.5 Given the importance ascribed to maintaining family ties for reducing reoffending in policy (Home Office, 2004; MoJ and HMPPS, 2019a), Lord Farmer (2017) proposed that family relationships ought to be the ‘golden thread’ in prison practices. Although there is criticism in the literature of using family relationships as a vehicle for responding to the problem of crime (Light and Campbell, 2007; Codd, 2008; Booth, 2017c), it is hoped that this renewed interest in maintaining contact will result in improved facilities. However, as well as issues in re-​establishing contact over the telephone, caregivers also observed how telephone tariffs within the prison estate were higher than in the community (PRT, 2006), whether in cells or on prison landings. Telephone calls are an essential way to stay in touch (Booth, 2018b), yet families in this study explained how mothers were struggling to afford to call. Access to telephones is especially important as telephone systems are one-​way (HMIP, 2016), which means that children and families cannot call the mother and speak to her on their terms. Although in-​cell telephones were found in this study to improve the frequency of contact with the mother, and plans to roll out in-​cell telephones across the prison estate are a welcome development in recent years (BBC, 2018), this

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does not address the issue of cost. Re-​evaluating contracts with telephone service providers would ensure that families do not get further punished or disconnected because they are grappling with financing phone calls. Additionally, the study found that visiting times and days are chosen by the prison, with most providing the majority of slots on weekdays. Such slots are almost impossible to attend because they clash with school pick-​up times. These issues are over a decade old (Light and Campbell, 2007). Despite being the ones who undertake lengthy and costly journeys to visit the mother –​on average, 49 miles in this study –​family members also have no say in decisions about the location of the prison that the mother is detained in. The long distances that families travel for visits do not automatically or necessarily warrant the transferral of the mother to a prison closer to her hometown. This was despite fuel and food for the journey being expensive and further burdening the families’ already strained financial situations. In fact, more time could be spent travelling to visits than actually face to face with the mother. While extended visits, such as family days, were widely appreciated by caregivers, oversubscription and operational delays could undermine their potential. Meanwhile, stringent searching procedures made the carers uncomfortable and feel as though they were being treated as a prisoner, which is consistent with the literature (Arditti et al, 2003; Dixey and Woodall, 2012). They acknowledged their precarious status, much like Codd’s (2008: 60) conception of ‘quasi-​inmates’, but extensive and unnecessarily intrusive practices have the potential to overshadow and exacerbate the already stressful visiting experience. Skype and tools for contact using technology were proposed by caregiving kin in this study, as similarly recommended elsewhere (Farmer, 2017; Masson, 2019). Former Justice Secretary David Gauke mentioned the potential of Skype for improved family contact (MoJ, 2018e), and prisoners in one Irish prison have already used this audio-​visual technology to remain in

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contact (McKeown, 2015). Likewise, the expansion of the email-​a-​prisoner scheme is a welcomed development, with one caregiver using this provision suggesting that a two-​way service would enhance opportunities for contact even further. There has been some shift towards using facilities for virtual contact, though this must be used in addition to existing communicative channels rather than as a substitute. For instance, while virtual contact might remove some barriers to contact –​such as affording telephone calls and delays with the postal system –​ Skype should not create more barriers to face-​to-​face contact by undermining a commitment to house women close to their homes (NOMS, 2013). The qualitative insights gleaned directly from caregivers seeking to maintain their relationship with an imprisoned mother provide deeper insights into the nature and scope of this institutional interference in England and Wales, and demonstrate how maintaining communication was a daily struggle for family members. Importantly, their accounts point to processes that, in practice, do not receive the respect that they are accorded in policy as the evidence from this study conflicts with ‘The Prison Rules’ (HM Government, 1999: 4.1, which state that ‘special attention shall be paid to the maintenance of such relationships between a prisoner and his [sic] family’. Release and the uncertain duration of caregiving

There was uncertainty about the duration of the mother’s sentence, with her release date unclear owing to HDC procedures. Although caregiving kin demonstrated a strong motivation to look after children in order to sustain mother–​ child relationships during the sentence, many were clear that their caretaking role was temporary as they planned for the mother to resume care for her children on release. This aligns with research with caregivers of female prisoners’ children in the US (Turanovic et al, 2012). However, the study found that the lack of information about release plans created obstacles

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for long-​term planning for the children’s needs and managing expectations about the ongoing pressures that caregivers would need to address. Proposals to include families in sentence planning  –​and especially when nearing release and when discussing resettlement  –​have been made previously (SEU, 2002). This not only aligns with policy discourse that identifies families as an important element to support resettlement and help curb recidivism (Home Office, 2004; HMIP, 2016), but can also help families prepare emotionally and practically for the reintroduction of the mother into the home. Release is clearly an important part of the experience of maternal imprisonment and it is apparent that this can influence how families might respond to the responsibilities that accompany this period. These findings suggest that the issues are complex but that further work to include families is needed. Indeed, while Lord Farmer’s (2017) seminal review has already instigated reforms within the prison estate (MoJ and HMPPS, 2019b), accountability is key for ensuring that positive changes are made –​and retained –​for the sake of families, who have committed no infractions themselves. While there is an expectation that the convicted mothers would experience some loss of liberty, failure to acknowledge how elements of this punishment are unnecessarily harming children and relatives will continue to undermine their efforts to maintain contact while contributing to their ‘disenfranchised social status’. Devalued by society: familial stigma

As well as issues with formal agencies, the caregivers also considered their experiences to be devalued by people in their local communities. Goffman (1963) identified this as ‘courtesy stigma’, which is imparted on those close to the individual with a ‘spoiled identity’ and associating with them, in this instance, the mother as a lawbreaker. As with other research, this study found that the media often reported the mother’s ‘crime’ in local and national newspapers (Boswell, 2002; Shamai and

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Kochal, 2008) but provides new insights into how this affects their families. The study showed how the publication of specific details, such as the mother’s name, and additional information about her maternal status, employment details or home address also left the children and families identifiable. There were disturbing signs that news stories had very little consideration for the children and their welfare or rights. Article 2 of the UNCRC (United Nations, 1989) states that children should not be discriminated against because of their parents, though it appears that media reports overlook or ignore these stipulations with prisoners’ children. Sections 39 and 49 of the Children and Young Persons Act 1933 limit the publicity of minors as victims, suspects or witnesses in court proceedings,6 yet the same safeguarding practices are not afforded to the innocent children of defendants, who are also vulnerable and secondary victims of the crime. Moreover, the study indicated how the publication of the mother’s crime was linked to the caregivers’ experiences of stigma in their local community, with neighbours crossing the road to avoid any interactions, and experiencing bullying and exclusion at school. The caregivers’ close relationship to the imprisoned mother most likely caused this derogatory treatment, which Condry (2007a) has called ‘kin contamination’. Being recipients of stigma left the caregivers fearful of future stigma, which they attempted to manage through different strategies similarly identified in research with individuals in other stigmatised groups (Rogers, 2000; Hughey, 2012). These have included non-​disclosure and ‘passing as normal’, whereby alternative explanations and identities were given to control information exchange with others. For some grandparents, stigma was experienced at another level, which Condry (2007a) named ‘kin culpability’, resulting in the allocation of blame to these parents for the failure to produce law-​abiding citizens. These attitudes may also be dependent upon normative assumptions about prisoners and their families in society. In particular, academics have suggested how news

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stories generally report the most serious, shocking and violent offences, while fictional crime thrillers in film and television programmes dramatise prison and prisoners (Sparks, 1992; Mason, 2007; Marsh, 2009). As such, the needs and welfare of children and families may well be overshadowed by unsympathetic and intrusive criminal news stories that fail to appreciate the extent of the harms that the collateral punishment associated with a custodial sentence inflicts. This study indicates that to move caregiving kin away from their ‘disenfranchised social status’, further work is also needed within local communities to give much greater understanding and meaning to the context and realities of imprisonment for families. Building on what we know: key findings and policy recommendations This study has presented the issues relating to the everyday lives of relatives involved in  –​or exposed to  –​caregiving during maternal imprisonment. Listening to their accounts has revealed how the effects of maternal imprisonment can permeate every aspect of their lives, from their domestic, economic and social situation, to their emotional and relational circumstances. However, there can be a tension between those needs identified by caregivers and normative assumptions about responses to crime and punishment. This means that the punishment extended to children and families following a mother’s imprisonment is not viewed as socially significant (Arditti, 2016). The vital caregiving role assumed by friends and family is overlooked by criminal justice processes, widely disregarded by social welfare agencies and undervalued or stigmatised by members of our society. Given this context, caregivers are serving their ‘family sentence’ while occupying a ‘disenfranchised social status’. Taking stock of these key findings from the study, some methods to incorporate the perspectives and experiences of caregivers into policy and practice in order to contribute to a greater inclusion and response to the challenges that they

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experience are explored in this section. To be specific, five recommendations are proposed. These five recommendations have not been selected as the only ways to enhance the system, but been selected because they would bring significant improvements while being relatively light on resources. It is important to note that several other academic texts (for example, Baldwin, 2015; Masson, 2019), reviews (for example, Corston, 2007; Farmer, 2017, 2019), inquiries (for example, JCHR, 2019), third sector reports (for example, PRT, 2018; Crest Advisory, 2019) and government reports (for example, NOMS, 2013) have proposed many, appropriate recommendations from their explorations of maternal imprisonment that would, no doubt, also lead to better processes, information and resources for caregiving kin. There is little need to repeat these recommendations here, but instead a need to call for them to be actioned swiftly alongside those presented in the following. Recommendation one: identify mothers and children at court

Much has been written about women in the criminal justice system but there has been very little progress in practice (Corston, 2007; Booth et al, 2018). Prison is rarely a necessity for women, and fundamental to any measures that seek to address the impact of maternal imprisonment must be the push towards more recognition for dependent children during sentencing (Baldwin, 2015; PRT, 2015). The Sentencing Advisory Panel (2009) has already acknowledged this and, more recently, there were recommendations from the JCHR (2019), which brings some hope for reform. The role of PSRs should not be underestimated for informing presiding judges about dependent children and possible caregiving arrangements (PRT, 2015; MoJ, 2018d). Together, this could provide more opportunities to divert women to community organisations and one-​stop shops that prevent a separation, and are more cost-​effective than custodial responses (Radcliffe et al, 2013).

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Put another way, properly acknowledging the implications of separating a mother from her children and families through incarceration would not only shed light on the significant impact on the lives of (potential) caregiving kin, but also perhaps reduce the number of individuals subsequently serving the ‘family sentence’. While a promise to decrease the female prisoner population is specified in the recent Female Offender Strategy (MoJ, 2018d), genuine commitment to actioning change is needed (Booth et al, 2018). Recommendation two: expand the provision of family liaison workers at courts

One way to alleviate some of the grief, uncertainty and lack of support identified at the point of separation would be to roll out family liaison workers in courts serving England and Wales. Initiatives run by voluntary sector organisations (for example, PACT) in which a practitioner is stationed at the courts to support and guide families following a custodial sentence should be given the financial backing that is required to make them accessible nationally. Moreover, a court worker is well positioned to advise families about resources, provisions and facilities to enhance family ties that are available both locally (for example, at the prison where the mother is detained) and nationally (for example, the Prisoners’ Families Helpline and APVS). There were several areas identified around support and resource provision for caregivers, and this measure would act to address some of them directly. Recommendation three: provide free information packs from the prison

Prisons should provide newly received prisoners with the opportunity to post ‘free information packs’ to their families within the first 24 hours in custody.7 Included within these packs should be up-​to-​date and relevant information about the individual establishment, national provisions (as earlier)

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and contact details of the family engagement worker at the prison. Clear information about how to stay in contact should be outlined, as well as appropriate guidance about preparing for the first visits, such as searching processes and a list of prohibited items, as this was found to be a particularly stressful experience. These information packs should also be available in the prison’s visitors’ centre and published on relevant websites, such as NICCO. Recommendation four: ensure the accountability of provisions via family performance measures

The proposal for family performance measures put forward in Lord Farmer’s (2017) review have been taken forward, and over the course of 2019–​20, the first ‘shadow’ self-​assessment tool was implemented. Governors8 are required to assess their delivery of family services with the aim of encouraging and identifying ‘positive and proactive work by prisons’ (NICCO, nd). Following the findings from this study, these assessments ought to consider facilities for re-​establishing and maintaining contact, including changes to reception telephone calls and tariffs, visiting times and experiences (such as searching practices), and technology for virtual contact. The continued use of these performance measures is vital to ensure that accountability is created –​and retained. This is especially pertinent given that other seminal reports (Woolf, 1991; SEU, 2002; Corston, 2007) that suggested equally appropriate improvements (for example, the implementation of community prisons to ensure that prisoners are housed close to their homes) have not stood the test of time. Recommendation five: expand Hidden Sentence Training

The automatic involvement of statutory agencies when a mother is imprisoned may not always be necessary or helpful, but there is a need for improved information sharing and

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inter-​agency working (MoJ and DCSF, 2007). While the identification of children and caregiving at court through PSRs goes some way in preventing children falling through the cracks, social welfare agencies also need to be better equipped to deal with families when they are referred (or self-​refer) for support. Programmes such as Hidden Sentence Training should be compulsory to ensure that practitioners are knowledgeable about the familial experience of imprisonment, and have knowledge about provisions locally and nationally to which they can signpost families. Concluding thoughts Of course, there are likely financial and resource implications for many, if not all, of the recommendations listed earlier, and elsewhere. Such costs may make these improvements less attractive to the government and prison governors already struggling to manage the public purse and ever-​dwindling penal budgets. Investing in prisoners’ family ties, both ideologically and financially, has the potential to raise ‘soft on crime’ narratives, which have arguably caused governments to shy away from this approach in the past. However, when weighed against the other costs, including other economic costs such as social care for those children without families to look after them during their mother’s imprisonment and the expense of paying for the prison place of a reoffender, as well as the social, familial and humanitarian costs, as exemplified in the narratives of the caregivers in this study, family-​friendly developments to the prison estate are more inviting, worthwhile and cost-​ effective than they may have first appeared. This is especially relevant when considering that forecasts have suggested that the prisoner population may continue to swell in the coming years (MoJ, 2018a), conceivably causing more children and families to experience the imprisonment of a loved one and more public money to be spent on developing and retaining expensive prison facilities.

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Writing about imprisoned mothers and families, Masson (2019) and Jardine (2018) have suggested that the framing of discussions about imprisonment as ‘unintended consequences’ is no longer satisfactory. The wealth of evidence that the academy has provided over the last decade regarding the far-​reaching harms that a custodial punishment inflicts (for example, Condry and Scharff Smith, 2018; Gordon, 2018) indicates that it is time for policy and practice to catch up. Contributing to this, the study presented in this book provides nuanced insights into the particular challenges facing caregiving kin and the wider family when a mother is imprisoned and, in particular, the damaging ‘family sentence’ that is experienced from a ‘disenfranchised social status’. The promise that comes post-​Farmer (2017, 2019) is a change in culture, but this can only be realised alongside a genuine commitment to prioritise family ties for humanitarian reasons in addition to –​not instead of  –​a mechanism to respond to recidivism. The challenge ahead lies in responding to what we know. Notes 1

2

3

4

5

6

7 8

Children Heard and Seen is a charity that supports children and young people with an imprisoned parent. For more information, see:  https://​ childrenheardandseen.co.uk/​# The Prisoners’ Families Helpline is a free phone service funded by the MoJ and run by the voluntary sector. For more information, see: https://​ www.prisonersfamilies.org/​ These figures were taken in 2016/​17, though there is significant variance in the cost of temporary foster care across local authorities, ranging from around £350 to £900 per child per week. For more information about Hidden Sentence Training, see: http://​www. partnersofprisoners.co.uk/​hidden-​sentence-​training/​ This policy has subsequently been replaced by the Women’s Policy Framework (2018). This information was gained from the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) website, see:  http://​www.cps.gov.uk/​legal/​v_​to_​z/​safeguarding_​children_​ as_​victims_​and_​witnesses/​#content Being sent by the prisoner should mitigate any issues with data protection. Or directors in private prisons.

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EIGHT Reflections on the research process

Introduction This final chapter provides some brief reflections on the research process. There is concern that failing to share the intricacies and messiness of the research process might leave future researchers ill-​prepared for the realities of prison research (Jewkes, 2016); meanwhile, the credibility of qualitative research can be enhanced by a thorough account of the research process (Guba, 1981; Shenton, 2004). Therefore, in this chapter, I will discuss the practical challenges of recruiting participants, the ethical issues of managing implicit withdrawal and a more personal reflection about how I consider my own identity to have shaped the data collected. I  hope that this reflective chapter provides further information that contextualises the study presented in the book. Practical challenges: recruitment Not only is accessing prison difficult for researchers, involving several layers of gatekeepers located at both national and localised levels (Davies, 2000; Martin, 2000), but the family members of prisoners have also been identified as a particularly

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hard-​to-​reach population (Loucks, 2005; Codd, 2008; Wood, 2008). Therefore, this section provides a short commentary about the practicalities of ‘doing’ research in this field, and specifically how the 15 families were identified and recruited for the study. My approach to recruitment was purposefully flexible. This meant that several different avenues were explored and used to identify eligible family members, including national media platforms, voluntary sector organisations, the prison visitors’ centre and the family engagement workers’ casework. I  first attempted to promote the research using different media platforms that would be accessed by family members and practitioners linked to the prison system (for example, Inside Time1 and Clinks Light Lunch), which I considered to be well placed to identify potential participants. I also made direct contact with voluntary organisations working with prisoners’ family members in the community, and specifically those providing support groups. Condry (2007a, 2007b) and Codd (2002) had both identified and recruited family members using community support groups and so I expected that this may be a useful approach. However, one support group primarily worked with family members who had male relatives in prison and the other was collaborating with academics at another university. Thus, although these different outputs generated interest in the research, they did not identify any potential participants as intended. Alternatively, my experience suggests that meeting family members face to face in the visitors’ centre was the most effective recruitment strategy, with 11 families being identified in this way. My placement indicated the prominence of the prison visitors’ centres for family members, and previous research has found them effective in research projects (for example, Wood, 2008). The visitors’ centres are usually where the family members go when they first arrive at the prison before a visit. It is set up like a waiting room –​often with vending machines or a tuck shop, toilet facilities, and sometimes a children’s play area or toys. Gaining access to the prison visitors’ centres

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was also necessary considering that there is no central record of prisoners’ families or agency responsible for their welfare that I could refer to or draw on to identify relatives (Williams et al, 2012). However, this access required two things: utilising existing contacts at the prison; and my NRC research approval, which was acquired for the wider study in which I  also interviewed imprisoned mothers (see Chapter Two). Without these, I am confident that access to the prison visitors’ centres as research sites would have been incredibly difficult. From my placement, I  knew how stressful visiting could be for families. While trying to identify caregiving kin in the prison visitors’ centres, I tried not to overburden them with information about the research or cause any distress by giving them unwanted attention. However, when family members appeared comfortable talking with me and were eligible, I would ask them if they were interested in participating. If they agreed, I  invited them to provide a contact telephone number along with times that may be convenient to talk so that I could follow up at a more suitable time –​specifically to reiterate information about the research and to organise the interview. I also found that it was effective to display posters about the research and distribute information leaflets on coffee tables and sideboards in the visitors’ centres. These documents familiarised family members with the research even when I was not present and so many were aware of the research before I met them. I found that this subsequently aided our interactions as they seemed to improve my credibility as a researcher. A further two carers contacted me after reading an information leaflet in the visitors’ centre at their respective prison and opted into the study. The final two caregivers were identified by family engagement workers at my selected research sites from their casework at the prisons. Following an agreed protocol with the NRC and individual prisons, the family engagement workers provided these family members with information leaflets about the research and invited them to contact me directly to opt into the research.

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Overall, my fieldwork took six months, during which time I  would spend around three days in a visitors’ centre every week. There could be anywhere between ten and 50 families visiting on any one day (as some prisons had multiple visiting slots in one day), and I often tried to ensure that one of my days fell on a weekend because, as we learned in Chapter Five, these are often the most popular visiting times. Although it proved successful in the end, I appreciate that this method is both time-​and resource-​heavy, and requires a great deal of resilience as weeks went by without meeting any eligible or willing families. However, as can be seen in earlier chapters of this book, the relatives who did take part in the research openly and honestly talked of their lives and experiences, and have provided rich accounts of how family life is affected by maternal imprisonment. Ethical challenges: managing withdrawal Research ethics committees are well suited for outlining ethical considerations ahead of the fieldwork but, as Ellis (2007) explains, there are still occasions in social research when unanticipated ethical moments arise during fieldwork. She has named these ‘situational ethics’ and explains how they can crop up at ‘unpredictable, often subtle, yet ethically important moments’ (Ellis, 2007: 4). In this study, the process of withdrawal led to a few ethically important moments as, in line with ethical guidelines, participants were clearly informed of their rights to withdraw from the research before and during the interview (Bryman, 2012). However, sensitively managing withdrawal in practice proved to be more challenging. On many occasions, family members would talk openly to me about their lives and experiences of having a loved one in prison while I was conducting my fieldwork in the prison visitors’ centre  –​even when they were not eligible for the research. Even so, I remained emotionally intelligent by sensitively closing conversations and moving away from family

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members who were showing less interest or appeared uncomfortable talking with me. This unwillingness to engage may have happened for a number of different reasons, with Wood (2008) proposing that this reluctance is born out of prisoners’ families’ inherent distrust of anyone or anything that represents formal institutions or forms of control; meanwhile, Loucks (2005) considered stigma to be a barrier to participation. Whatever the reason, the refusal to participate by some families reaffirmed to me that ethical guidelines were being followed as consent and dissent was informed and without coercion. In a different way, a number of potential participants gave their verbal consent to participate in the research, and shared their contact details, but later withdrew by refusing to answer my follow-​up telephone call. On each occasion, I contacted the individual and left them a message as it was reasonable to expect that there may be other reasons for not responding while also reiterating that participation was voluntary. This led to some participants returning and taking part, whereas others did not –​and I felt that this was an appropriate way to manage the precarious withdrawal process in the field. However, this system was tested with one father whose wife was imprisoned and had become sole carer to his three children. On meeting him in the visitors’ centre, he had appeared keen to participate, providing his telephone number, engaging in two phone conversations and arranging to be interviewed at his home. However, when the agreed interview time came, he was not there. I tried to contact him via telephone and text message and decided to wait outside his home for an hour –​again considering the possibility of other reasons for his absence –​but I eventually decided to leave so as to avoid undue intrusion or pressure on him to take part. Having not heard back from this participant, I have understood this absence as him exercising his agency to withdraw. Although I will never be fully sure what happened, it is important to remember that discussions about separation from loved ones are exceptionally emotive and difficult, and that viewing consent as an ongoing

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process when conducting research with prisoners’ families is crucial. Therefore, despite driving over 300 miles to conduct this interview, I believe that my decisions on that day were well judged and that I effectively managed and responded to this particularly difficult ethically important moment. Reflexivity: the researcher’s identity Reflexivity is a mechanism that can speak to the quality of qualitative research given that benchmarks for quantitative research (for example, generalisability) are not appropriate for this form of investigation (Shenton, 2004). Contributing to the ‘credibility’ of the research, Krefting (1991:  218) defines reflexivity as ‘an assessment of the influence of the investigator’s own background, perceptions and interests on the qualitative research process’, often considering the researcher’s personal history and their interactions with the research throughout the process. This is necessary because in qualitative research, the researcher is a research tool: their actions, questions, behaviours and interpretations shape the process and findings. A fieldwork diary is a useful tool to track qualitative research endeavours (Braun and Clarke, 2013), and although there are different ways to construct this, the essential components of the diary include ‘everything the fieldworker believes to be of importance’ (Gray, 2004:  244). This is because diary notes provide intricate details and transparency that allow the researcher to see their Self within the process (Heller et al, 2011). Therefore, after every day spent in the field –​during my prison placement,2 in prison visitors’ centres recruiting family members and interviewing –​I would dedicate time to reflect on what I had seen, heard and observed, as well as my reactions, thoughts and feelings about this, in my fieldwork diary. Based on my rereading of my fieldwork diary, it was clear that one important and recurring theme may have shaped and altered my fieldwork experiences: the participants’ perception of me

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as a researcher. Significantly, my identity as a white, mid-​20s female meant that I had little interpersonal and intersubjective similarities with my participants as the caregiver sample was mostly composed of grandparents and fathers. This will have likely altered the data-​collection process and is worthy of some consideration here. I noted in my diary how participants and visitors in the prison visitors’ centres often referred to me as a “student” or “young researcher lady”. Braun and Clarke (2013) have proposed that avoiding the ‘expert’ label can be beneficial during data collection because it allows the interviewee to take a more authoritative role and provide in-​depth descriptions as they self-​identify as the experienced party. I  believe the families may have perceived me in ways that were most appropriate for them, and being a ‘student’ was less intimidating. For instance, I considered whether these perceptions (implicitly) surfaced because it reduced their own vulnerability. They were allowing me, an unfamiliar person (a stranger), not only into their personal space and their homes to conduct the interview, but also into their lives while experiencing awful experiences of stigma and navigating multiple disadvantages since the mothers’ imprisonment (see Chapter Six). As we have seen, many family members came together to share their difficult stories in joint interviews, so it is possible that thinking of me as a student, or as a novice, may have been less threatening as they talked about their family circumstances. The themes identified in my diary extracts that sought to detail the face-​to-​face and interpersonal relationships provide some space and opportunity to reflect on these researcher–​ participant dynamics and consider how they may have shaped –​ and, in this case, even enhanced –​the data collected. Of course, I cannot accurately present how the participants had subjectively perceived me as the researcher, but there was clearly some value in considering how my relative youth and gender may have indirectly shaped power dynamics and, indeed, the rich data collected in this study.

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Summary This chapter intended to provide some further insights into the realities of conducting research with the caregiving kin. While this openness enhances the ‘credibility’ of the qualitative research (Shenton, 2004), it can also help future researchers learn about the complexities and messiness of fieldwork. This was achieved in this chapter through a critical examination of some of the practical and ethical challenges that arose while ‘doing’ the study, as well as consideration of the way in which my Self influenced the research through reflexive practices. Ultimately, what is most important is that the fieldwork produced original, rich, in-​depth data that are grounded in the lives and experiences of the family members, and informed by their accounts of maternal imprisonment. It is one of very few studies that has engaged directly with relatives looking after children whose mothers are serving a custodial sentence in England, producing insights that detail the ‘family sentence’ that they serve from a ‘disenfranchised’ social position. Notes 1

2

Inside Time is a newspaper that is usually distributed across the prison estate and in visitors’ centres. For more information about the prison placement, see the Preface of this book.

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203

Index

children of caregiver, ‘doubly invisible’  51–​5 Children Heard and Seen, community-​based initiative  14, 180 Children and Young Persons Act (1933)  174 Codd, H.  approach to recruiting research participants  182 collective caregiving practices  45, 160 problem of overreliance on family members  13–​14 qualitative research method  12 ‘collateral consequences’ of imprisonment  10, 41, 158 collective caregiving  44–​6, 65, 160–​2 and financial support  85, 93–​4 joint interviews  43–​4 nature and extent of  46–​8 strain of  48–​50 Condry, R.  15 approach to recruiting research participants  182 caregivers’ experiences of stigma  174 ‘socialisation’ of caregivers to prison visits  107 consent issues  medical procedures for children  129–​30 research participants  23, 43, 185

A accountability of prisons to make reforms  173, 178 active fathering  57–​8 affairs of mother, management of by caregivers  84–​6 ‘ambiguous’ loss theory  12, 73, 164 Assisted Prison Visits Scheme (APVS)  14, 114–​15, 169 audio-​visual technology  119–​20, 171–​2

B babies of imprisoned mothers  challenges of looking after  87–​8 collective caregiving  47 effect on caregiver’s own children  52, 53   see also Mother and Baby Units (MBUs) bereavement, maternal imprisonment similar to  71–​3 blaming of the family (‘kin culpability’)  15, 142, 144, 174 Bockneck, E.L., ambiguity of loss  73

C Carlen, P., women as ‘doubly deviant’  6 child benefit, issues in transferring  135–​6, 169

205

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contact after sentencing, establishing  103–​108 face-​to-​face contact  105–​108 phone contact  103–​105 contact, maintaining  108, 169–​72 booking visits  110 cost of telephoning  108–​10 emails and video-​calling  119–​20 postal contact  117–​19 timing of visits  111–​12 travel distance and costs  112–​15 visiting processes and environment  115–​17 Corston review (2007)  8 costs  of being a caregiver  91–​4 of childcare by social services  167 of Residency Orders (ROs)  131 of telephoning from prison  108–​10 of visiting prison  113–​15 court practices/​ processes  6–​10, 98–​101 experiences of separation and exclusion  163–​5 support after court hearing, need for  101–​103 ‘courtesy stigma’, Goffman  15, 91, 115, 137, 156, 173 Criminal Justice Act (2003)  71 criminal justice system  97–​8 court practices/​processes  98–​101 support after court hearing, need for  101–​103 harsher sentences for women  6–​7 maintaining contact  108 booking visits  110 cost of telephoning  108–​10 emails and video-​calling  119–​20 postal contact  117–​19 timing of visits  111–​12 travel distance and costs  112–​15 visiting processes and environment  115–​17 MBUs (Mother and Baby Units)  120–​1

awaiting places on MBUs  122–​4 children housed on an MBU  121–​2 re-​establishing contact  103 face-​to-​face contact  105–​108 phone contact  103–​105 custodial sentences  calls to reduce  6 for first offence  6–​7 incorrect advice from lawyers  94–​5, 163 unexpectedness of  69–​71

D dependent children  of caregiver  50–​4 unidentified at court  7, 100, 176–​7 determinate sentences  148, 156 ‘disenfranchised social status’ of the caregiver  15, 17, 86, 125, 134, 157, 162–​3, 173, 175, 180 distances from home to prison  112–​13 domestic reorganisations  75–​8 ‘double’ pains of grandparents  12 ‘doubly invisible’ children  50–​1, 65 caregivers’ adult children and grandchildren  54–​5 caregivers’ own dependent children  51–​4

E Ellis, C., situational ethics  184 ‘email-​a-​prisoner’ scheme  119 ethical challenges, research participants’ withdrawal from study  184–​6 expectations of release see release expectations

F FaceTime  119, 120 familial stigma  137, 156 in the community  140–​2, 173–​5 during prison visits  146–​8 fear and management of  143–​6

206

INDEX

media reports instigating  138–​9 online stigma  142–​3 protecting children from  139–​40 family days  116–​17 family, definitions of  20 family liaison workers at courts  102 recommendation to expand provision of  177 family obligations  21, 74, 159–​60 family performance measures  178 ‘family practices’ theory, Morgan  2, 20–​3, 42, 44, 52, 54–​5, 64, 76, 86, 90, 144, 161–​2 applying to maternal imprisonment  21–​2 importance of maintaining contact  169–​70 ‘family sentence’  17, 40, 48, 50, 55, 65, 66, 86, 89, 91, 95, 105, 150, 156–​58, 161–​2, 175, 180, 188 served by caregiving kin  157–​80 Farmer, Lord, reviews (2017 and 2019)  14, 99–​100, 173 family performance measures  178 importance of maintaining prisoners’ family ties  170 recommendation for prison-​ based social workers  132, 134, 137, 155, 166 fathering practices  56–​7 active fathering  57–​8 irregular fathering  58–​61 fathers  absent  61 legal parental responsibility of  132 in prison, contact with  61–​3 support from birth family  63–​4 unpreparedness of  76 unreliability of  37 Female Offender Strategy (MoJ)  6, 177 female prisons in England and Wales  8–​9, 112 financial difficulties of caregivers  12–​13 cost of prison visits  113–​15

inadequate support from formal agencies  167–​9 and leaving paid work  91–​3, 168–​9 Finch, J., ‘family obligations’  74, 159 formal (statutory) support  93–​4 dissociation from  165–​7

G Gauke, David, recommendations for improved family contact  109, 171–​2 Goffman, E., ‘courtesy stigma’  15, 91, 115, 137, 156, 173 grief felt by family  71–​3 guardianship see legal guardianship issues

H Hardwick, Nick, former Chief Inspector of Prisons  3 HDC (Home Detention Curfew/​ ‘tag’)  39–​40, 149–​51, 172 helpline for prisoners’ families  14, 102 Hidden Sentence Training  178–​9 human rights issues  2, 5, 7

I identity  of caregivers, changing roles  86–​9 of researcher  186–​8 social identity of caregivers  89–​91 ‘spoiled identity’ of prisoners, Goffman  137, 173 in-​cell telephone facilities  109, 170–​1 informal kinship care arrangements  129–​30 lack of financial support  135 leading to role ambiguity  165 and loss of social activities  90–​1 information packs from prisons, provision of  177–​8 information sharing  need for improved  79, 95, 178–​9 and security  166

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MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

Ministry of Justice (MoJ)  Female Offender Strategy  6, 177 free helpline funded by  102–​103 response to JCHR inquiry  99–​100 Minson, S., information for sentencers and mothers  7–​8 mitigation of court sentence  70–​1, 163 MoJ see Ministry of Justice Morgan, D.H.J., theory of ‘family practices’  2, 20, 21, 40, 42, 44, 52, 54–​5 Mother and Baby Units (MBUs)  9, 120–​1, 125 awaiting places on  122–​4 children housed on  121–​2 multiple convictions, strain on family ties  159–​60

J Jardine, C., ‘collateral’ and ‘unintended’ consequences of imprisonment  41, 158, 180 Joint Committee on Human Rights (JCHR) recommendations  99–​100, 176 joint interviews  26, 42, 43–​4

K ‘kin contamination’, Condry  15, 141, 174 ‘kin culpability’, Condry  15, 142, 144, 174 Krefting, L., definition of reflexivity  186

L

N

lawyers, bad advice from  8–​9, 70, 94–​5 legal guardianship issues  128 challenges of not having  129–​30 temporary assignment of, ROs  131–​2 letters/​postal contact with mothers in prison  117–​18 life-​changing events, recognition of  166 losses  72–​3, 134, 164 ‘ambiguous’ loss theory  12, 73, 164 Loucks, N., stigma as barrier to participation  185

National Information Centre for Children of Offenders (NICCO)  14 newspaper reports/​news stories  138–​40, 141, 173–​5

O online stigma  142–​3

P PACT (Prisoner Advice and Care Trust)  14, 102 parental responsibility  22, 60, 128, 130 Residency Orders providing temporary  131 ‘passing as normal’ strategy, Goffman  145, 174 paternal kin, contact and relationship with  63–​4 postal contact  117–​19 Pre-​Sentence Reports (PSRs)  7, 100, 176, 179 primary caregiving status of mother, and mitigation of sentence  7, 71, 163

M Mason, J., ‘family obligations’  74, 159 Masson, I., far-​reaching harms of incarceration  180 MBUs see Mother and Baby Units media reports  caregivers’ experience of  138–​9 impact of online stigma  142–​3 protecting children from  139–​40 and stigma in the community  140–​2

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INDEX

prison-​based social workers, recommendations for  132, 134, 137, 155, 166 prison search processes, negative experiences  146–​8, 171 prison visiting processes  115–​17 Prisoner Advice and Care Trust (PACT)  14, 102 Prisoners’ Families Helpline  14, 102

longer-​term renegotiations  84–​94 news of imprisonment  67–​73 research process  181–​8 recruitment, challenges of  181–​4 researcher’s identity, reflexivity  186–​7 withdrawal from research, ethical challenges  184–​6 research study  19–​40 access and recruitment  23–​4 caregiving kin  25–​31 data collection and analysis  24–​5 methodology  22 personal introduction to each caregiver  32–​40 summary  40 theoretical framework  20–​1 ‘resettlement agency’, role of the family  13, 151, 156, 173 Residency Orders (ROs)  131–​2 respite for caregivers, lack of  37, 76 ROs (Residency Orders)  131–​2 rules in prison, restrictive  158–​9

Q ‘quasi-​inmates’ notion  115, 171

R recidivism/​reoffending, reduction of  importance of maintaining family ties  13, 170 policy discourse shifting responsibility to the family  94, 173 recommendations for policy  175–​6 ensure accountability of provisions via family performance measures  178 expand Hidden Sentence Training  178–​9 expand the provision of family liaison workers at courts  177 identify mothers and children at court  176–​7 provide free information packs from the prison  177–​8 recruitment of research participants  23, 181–​4 reflexive practices  186–​7 release expectations  148 anxieties about changes in mother post-​release  151–​3 and future plans  153–​5 uncertainties around release date  149–​51, 172–​3 renegotiating family life  67 initial response to mother’s imprisonment  73–​84

S security procedures in prisons  147–​8 selective disclosure of mother’s situation  145 sentences/​sentencing  6–​7 uncertainty about duration of  172–​3 unexpectedness of  68–​71 Sentencing Advisory Panel  164, 176 ‘situational ethics’, Ellis  184 Skype  119–​20, 171–​2 social activities, caregivers avoiding  90–​1 social care, children taken into  5, 23–​4, 179 caregivers preventing  74–​5, 159, 166 social identity of caregivers, changes in  89–​91 social media, postings about mother’s sentence  142–​3

209

MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE

social services  caregivers’ self-​referral to  135, 166 prison-​based social workers  132, 134, 137, 166 social workers in prisons, recommendation for  132, 134, 137, 166 ‘spoiled identity’, Goffman  137, 173 statutory support  dissociation from  165–​7 expectations of  132–​5 inadequate or lack of financial  93–​4, 167–​9 stigma see familial stigma support following court hearing, finding  101–​103

U UNCRC  7, 99, 112, 174 ‘unintended consequences’ of imprisonment  158, 180

V video-​calling  119–​20 videos, informative  7–​8 visiting orders (VOs)  106 visiting prison  anxieties about  107 arranging  105–​106 booking of visits  106, 110 delays experienced  106–​107, 111 family days  116–​17 processes and environment  115–​17 ‘quasi-​inmate’ treatment  115, 171 timing of visits  111–​12 travel distance and costs  112–​15 voluntary sector organisations  14, 103, 177, 182

T telephone contact  cost of telephoning  108–​10 delays in re-​establishing  103–​105 telephone helpline for prisoners’ families  14, 102 travelling to prison for visits  112–​13 government support for costs incurred  114–​15 time and cost implications  113–​14 Turanovic, J.J., effects on caregivers of children of incarcerated parents  12

W welfare agencies, support from  134–​7 withdrawal from research, managing  184–​6 Wood, V.J., barriers to participation  185 work commitments of caregivers, financial issues  91–​4

210

Natalie Booth is Senior Lecturer in Criminology at Bath Spa University.

Exploring the untold experiences of family members and friends caring for the children of female prisoners in England and Wales, this book sheds light on the collateral damage that incarceration causes those who take over caregiving responsibilities for the children of female prisoners. Providing new qualitative research on the lived experiences of caregiving relatives, alongside theoretically informed and policy-relevant insights, Booth shows the difficult and damaging consequences of the ‘family sentence’ they serve. Exploring the stigma, scarce statutory support and policy neglect they face, she offers much-needed evidence to encourage the development of a more inclusive, understanding and family-oriented justice system.

Maternal Imprisonment and Family Life Natalie Booth

“This is an original and wellresearched book presenting new empirical data. A highly topical book that is recommended reading for anyone who is interested in the experiences of those affected by maternal imprisonment.” Helen Codd, University of Central Lancashire

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MATERNAL IMPRISONMENT AND FAMILY LIFE POLICY PRESS

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From the Caregiver’s Perspective N ATA L I E B O OT H

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